PRICE,  TWEXTY-FtVE  CENTS.  No    19, 

THE    IDEAL    LIBRARY, 

Issued  Tri-Weel:!y.  Subscription  price,  $30.00  per  year.  April]  0,  1895 

Entered  at  Chicago  Post  Office  as  Second-Class  Matter. 


UC-NRLF 


TILLYLOSS  SCANDAL 


BY- 


d.    M.    Bf\RRIB 


CHICAGO: 

DONCHUE,  HEN.NEBERRY  &  CO. 
407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 


GEORGE  HOLMES  HOWISON 


The  Tiffyfoss  Scandaf 


BY 

J.  M.  BARRIE. 


Author  of  "The  Little  Minister,"    "  When  a  Man's 
Single,"  "  The  Professor's  Love  Story.n 


CHICAGO  : 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  OX 
407-425  DBABBOBN  ST. 


CONTENTS. 


A  TILLYLOSS  SCANDAL. 

CHAPTER. 

I. — In  which  we  approach  Haggart  hat  in  han<f.  5 
II. — Containing  the  circumstances  which  led  to 

the  Departure  of  Haggart 14 

III. — Shows  how  Haggart  sat  on  a  dyke  looking 

at  his  own  funeral 28 

IV.— The  Wanderings  of  Haggart , 44 

V.— The  Return  of  Haggart 59, 

VI. — In  which  a  birth  is  recorded 73 

How  GAVIN  BIRSE  PUT  IT  TO  MAG  LOWNIE 88 

DITE  DEUCHARS 97 

LIFE  IN  A  COUNTRY  MANSE. 

I. — Janet 106 

II. — Janet's  Curiosity 115 

III.— Teacher  M'Queen 123 

IV.— The  Post 131 

V.— A  Wedding  in  the  Smiddy 138 

VI.— The  Minister's  Gown 147 


552427 


vi  CONTENTS, 

rAGB. 

THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  SCHOOL. 152 

A  POWERFUL  DRUG 158 

EVERY  MAN  HIS  OWN  DOCTOR 167 

SHUTTING  A  MAP.    A  NOTE  OF  WARNING 177 

AN  INVALID  IN  LODGINGS 186 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  TIME-TABLES 194 

MENDING  THE  CLOCK 200 

THE  BIGGEST  Box  IN  THE  WORLD 210 

THE  COMING  DRAMATIST 220 


A  TILLYLOSS  SCANDAL 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN    WHICH    WE    APPROACH    HAGGART,     HAT    IN 
HAND. 

ACCORDING  to  those  who  have  thought  tlie 
thing-  over,  it  would  defy  the  face  of  clay  to 
set  forth  this  prodigious  affair  of  Tilly  loss,  the 

upshot  of  which  was  that  Tammas  Haggart 
became  a  humorist.  It  happened  so  far  back 
as  the  Long  Year,  so  called  by  reason  of  dis- 
ease in  the  potato  crop  ;  and  doubtless  the 
house,  which  still  stands,  derides  romance  to 
those  who  cavil  at  an  outside  stair.  Further- 
more, the  many  who  only  knew  Haggart  in 
his  later  years,  whether  personally  or  through 
written  matter  or  from  Thrums  folk  who  have 
traveled,  will  not  readily  admit  that  he  may 
once  have  been  an  every-day  man.  There  is 
also  against  me  the  vexing  practice  of  the 
farmer  of  Lookaboutyou,  who  never  passes 
Tillyloss,  if  there  is  a  friend  of  minv5  within 
earshot,  without  saying  : 


'*'  Grave-stane  or  no  grave-stane,  Tammas 
•Hawaii  Would  have  been  a  humorist." 

Lbokabbutyou  thus  implies  that  he  knew 
Haggart  for  a  man  of  parts  when  the  rest  of 
us  were  blind,  and  it  is  tantalizing  beyond 
ordinary  to  see  his  word  accepted  in  this  mat- 
ter by  people  who  would  not  pay  him  for  a 
drill  of  potatoes  without  first  stepping  it  to 
make  sure  of  the  length. 

I  have  it  from  Tammas  Haggart  that  until 
the  extraordinary  incident  occurred  which  I 
propose  telling  as  he  dropped  it  into  my  mouth 
he  was  such  a  man  as  myself.  True,  he  was 
occasionally  persuaded  by  persons  of  Look- 
aboutyou's  stamp  to  gloss  over  this  admis- 
sion, as  incredible  on  the  face  of  it,  but  that 
was  in  his  last  years,  when  he  had  become 
something  of  a  show,  and  was  in  a  puzzle 
about  himself.  Of  the  several  reasons  he 
gave  me  in  proof  of  a  non-humorous  period 
in  his  life  the  following  seem  worthy  of  es- 
pecial attention  : — • 

First,  that  for  some  years  after  his  marriage 
he  had  never  thought  of  himself  as  more 
nicely  put  together  than  other  men.  He 
could  not  say  for  certain  whether  he  had  ever 
thought  of  himself  at  all,  his  loom  taking  up 
so  much  of  his  time. 

Second,  that  Chirsty  was  able  to  aggravate 
him  by  saying  that  if  which  was  which  she 
would  have  married  James  Pitbladdo. 

Third,  that  he  was  held  of  little  account 


by  the  neighbors,  who  spoke  of  his  living 
" above  Lunan's  shoppy,"  but  never  local- 
ized the  shop  as  "  below  Haggart's  house." 

Fourth,  that  while  on  his  wanderings  he 
experienced  certain  novel  and  singular  sen- 
sations in  his  inside,  which  were  probably 
his  humor  trying  to  force  a  passage. 

Fifth,  that  in  the  great  scene  which  ended 
his  wanderings,  his  humor  burst  its  banks 
like  a  dam,  and  had  flowed  in  burns  ever 
since. 

During  nearly  forty  years  we  contrived 
now  and  again  to  harness  Tammas  to  his 
story,  but  often  he  would  stop  at  the  difficulty 
of  realizing  the  man  he  must  have  been  in 
his  pre-humorous  days,  and  remark,  in  his 
sarcastic  way,  that  the  one  Haggart  could 
not  fathom  the  other.  Thus  our  questionings 
sometimes  ended  in  silence,  when  we  all 
looked  in  trouble  at  the  fire  and  then  went 
home.  As  for  starting  him  on  the  story 
when  he  was  not  in  the  vein,  it  was  like 
breasting  the  brae  against  a  high  wind. 

When  the  events  happened  I  was  only  a 
lad.  I  cannot  send  my  mind  back  to  the 
time  when  I  could  pass  Haggart  without  the" 
side-glance  nearly  all  Thrums  offered  to  his 
reputation,  and  he  is  best  pictured  hunkering 
at  Tillyloss,  one  of  a  row  of  his  admirers. 
After  eight  o'clock  it  was  the  pleasant  custom 
of  the  weavers  to  sit  in  the  open  against  a 
house  or  dyke,  their  knees  near  their  chins 


8 


and  their  ears  ready  for  Haggart.  Then  his 
face  would  be  contracted  in  pain  as  some 
strange  idea  bothered  him  and  he  searched 
for  its  humorous  aspect  Perhaps  ten  min- 
utes afterwards  his  face  would  expand,  he 
would  slap  his  knees,  and  we  knew  that  the 
struggle  was  over.  It  was  one  of  his  ways, 
disliked  at  the  time,  yet  admired  on  reflec- 
tion, n^A.  tD  take  us  into  the  secret  of  his 
laughter ;  but  he  usually  ended  by  looking 
whimsically  in  the  direction  of  the  burying- 
ground,  when  we  were  perfectly  aware  of  the 
source  of  the  joke,  and  those  of  us  nudged 
each  other  who  were  not  scared.  Until  the 
spell  was  broken  we  might  sit  thus  for  the 
space  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  none  speaking, 
yet  in  the  completest  sympathy,  because 
we  were  all  thinking  of  the  same  thing,  and 
that  a  grave-stone. 

Tillyloss  is  three  broken  rows  of  houses 
in  the  east  end  of  Thrums,  with  gardens  be- 
tween them,  nearly  every  one  of  which  used 
to  contain  a  pig-sty.  There  are  other  ways 
of  getting  into  the  gardens  than  by  windows, 
for  those  who  are  sharp  at  knowing  a  gate 
when  it  looks  like  something  else.  Three 
or  four  other  houses  stand  in  odd  corners, 
blocking  the  narrow  road,  which  dodges 
through  Tillyloss  like  a  hunted  animal. 
Starting  from  the  west  end  of  the  suburb,  as 
Tillyloss  will  be  called  as  soon  as  we  can 
the  word  without  smirking,  the  road 


8£Utjt0!S$  jlfltttda*.  9 


climbs  straight  from  the  highway  to  the  up- 
permost row,  where  it  runs  against  a  two- 
story  house.  Here  we  leave  it,  as  many 
a  curious  stranger  has  done,  to  get  out  of 
Tillyloss  the  best  way  it  can,  for  that  two- 
storied  house  is  where  Tammas  Haggart 
lived,  up  the  outside  stair,  the  west  room. 

Tammas  flitted  to  the  Tenements  a  year 
after  he  became  a  humorist,  and  it  is  an  ex- 
traordinary tribute  to  his  memory  that  the 
road  from  the  pump  up  to  his  old  residence 
in  Tillyloss  is  still  called  Haggart's  Roady. 
Many  persons  have  inhabited  his  room  since 
he  left  it,  but  though  the  younger  ones  hold 
out  for  an  individuality  of  their  own,  the 
gray-beards  still  allow  that  it  is  Haggart's 
house.  To  this  day  Tillyloss  residents  asked 
for  a  landmark  to  their  dwellings  may  reply, 

"  I'm  sax  houses  south  frae  Haggart's," 
or,  "Onybody  can  point  out  Haggart's  stair 
to  you.  Ay,  weel,  gang  to  that,  and  then 
come  back  three  doors/' 

The  entrance  to  Lunan's  shop  was  beneath 
Haggart's  stair,  which  provided  a  handy 
retiring  place  in  wet  weather.  Lunan's  per- 
sonality had  the  enormous  advantage  of  a 
start  of  Tammas's,  as  has  been  seen,  yet 
Haggart  has  practically  swallowed  Lunan, 
who  in  his  more  crabbed  age  scowled  at  the 
sight-seers  that  came  to  look  at  the  second 
story  of  the  house  and  ignored  the  shop. 
As  boys  we  envied,  more  than  learning, 


io 


the  companion  whose  father  kept  a  shop, 
and  I  remember  Lunan's  son  going  with  his 
fists  for  the  banker's  son  who — though  he 
never  really  believed  it — said  that  his  father 
could  have  a  shop  if  he  liked.  Yet  the  grand 
romance  of  Haggart  choked  the  fame  of 
Lunan  even  with  the  lads  who  played  dumps 
at  Tillyloss,  and  the  shop  came  to  be  local- 
ized as  "beneath  Haggart's  stair."  Even 
Lunan's  stoutness,  which  was  a  landmark  in 
itself,  could  not  save  him.  The  passage  be- 
tween his  counter  and  the  wall  was  so  nar- 
row and  the  rest  of  his  shop  so  full  of  goods 
that  before  customers  could  enter  Lunan  had 
to  come  out,  but  in  this  quandary  his  dignity 
never  left  him.  He  always  declined  to  join 
the  company  who  might  be  listening  on  the 
stairs  to  Tammas's  adventures,  but  some  say 
he  was  not  above  hearkening  through  a  hole 
in  one  of  the  steps. 

The  exact  date  of  Haggart's  departure  can- 
not be  determined,  though  it  was  certainly 
in  the  back  end  of  the  year  1834.  •  He  had 
then  been  married  to  Chirsty  a  little  short  of 
three  years.  His  age  would  be  something 
beyond  thirty,  but  he  never  knew  his  birth- 
day, and  I  have  heard  him  say  that  one  of 
the  few  things  he  could  not  understand  was 
how  the  relatives  of  a  person  deceased  could 
know  the  precise  age  to  send  to  the  news- 
papers. 

What  is,  however,  known  for  certain   is 


jfcanttoL 


that  Tammas's  adventures  began  within  a 
week  of  the  burial  of  old  Mr.  Yuill,  the  parish 
minister.  There  had  been  a  to-do  about  who 
should  preach  the  funeral  sermon,  two  min- 
isters having  words  over  it,  and  all  Thrums 
knowing  that  Mr.  Yuill  had  left  seven  pounds 
to  the  preacher.  At  this  time  Haggart  did 
not  belong  to  the  Auld  Lichts,  nor  was  he 
even  regular  in  his  attendance  at  the  parish 
church,  but  the  dispute  about  the  funeral 
sermon  interested  him  greatly,  and  when  he 
heard  that  the  session  was  meeting  to  decide 
the  affair,  he  agreed  with  Chirsty  that  he 
might  do  worse  than  hang  around  the  door 
on  the  chance  of  getting  early  information. 
There  was  a  small  crowd  at  the  door  on 
the  same  errand,  all  of  whom  noticed, 
though  they  little  thought  it  would  give  them 
a  topic  to  their  dying  day,  that  Haggart  had 
on  his  topcoat.  It  had  been  an  old  one  of 
Mr.  Yuill's,  presented  to  Tammas,  who  could 
not  fill  it,  but  refused  to  have  it  altered,  out 
of  respect  to  the  minister's  memory.  It  has 
also  been  fondly  recalled  of  Tammas  that 
he  was  only  shaven  on  the  one  side,  as  if 
Chirsty  had  sent  him  to  the  meeting  in  a 
hurry,  and  that  he  had  not  the  look  of  a  man 
who  was  that  very  night  to  enter  upon  ex- 
periences which  would  confound  the  world. 
"  It  was  an  impressive  spectacle,"  Snecky 
Hobart  said  subsequently,  "  to  see  Tammas 
discussing  the  burial  sermon,  just  as  keen  as 


12  ^  aftttgt0#0 


me  and  T'nowhead,  and  then  to  think  that 
within  twenty-four  hours  the  very  ministers 
themselves  would  be  discussing  him." 

' '  He  said  to  me  it  had  been  a  dowie  day," 
T'nowhead  always  remembered. 

"He  shoved  me  when  he  was  crushing 
in  nearer  the  door,"  was  Hender  Robbie's 
boast. 

"But  he  took  a  snuff  out  of  my  mull." 

"  Maybe  he  did,  but  I  was  the  last  he  spoke 
to.  He  said,  '  Weel,  Dan'l,  I'll  be  stepping 
back  to  Tilly/" 

"Ay,  but  I  passed  him  at  the  Tenements, 
and  he  says,  'Davit/  he  says,  and  I  says, 
'  Tammas/" 

"Very  like  ;  but  I  was  carrying  a  ging  of 
water  frae  Susie  Linn's  pump,  and  Tammas 
said  would  I  give  him  a  drink,  the  which  I 
did." 

"  Lads,  I'm  no  sure  but  what  I  noticed  a 
far-away  look  in  Tammas's  face,  as  if  there 
was  something  on  his  mind." 

"If  ye  did,  Jeames,  ye  kept  it  to  your- 
sel'/' 

"Ay,  but  I  meant  to  mention  it  when  I 
got  hame." 

"  How  did  ye  no,  then?  " 

"  How  does  a  body  no  do  many  a  thing  ? 
I  dinna  say  I  noticed  the  look,  but  just  that 
I'm  no  sure  but  what  I  noticed  it" 

So  we  all  did  our  best  to  recall  Haggart's 
last  words  and  looks  on  that  amazing  even- 


jtamtat.,  13 


ing ;  even  the  Auld  Licht  minister,  who  cared 
little  for  popularity,  claiming  as  a  noticeable 
thing  to  have  walked  behind  Tammas  and 
observed  that  his  handkerchief  was  hanging 
out  of  his  north  pocket.  But  though  all 
these  memories  have  their  value  as  relics, 
we  have  Tammas's  own  word  for  it  that 
from  the  time  he  reached  the  session-house 
until  his  return  to  Tillyloss  he  felt  much  as 
usual. 

"Ay,"  he  would  say  in  his  impressive 
way,  "  many  a  thing  may  happen  between 
the'aucht  and  the  ten-o'clock  bells,  but  I  told 
neither  T'nowhead  nor  Snecky  nor  none  of 
them  as  onything  was  to  happen  that 
nicht." 

"Ye  did  not,  Tammas;  na,  na,  for  if  ye 
had  I  would  have  heard  ye,  me  being  there. " 

"Ay,  but  ye  couldna  say  my  reason  for  no 
telling  ye  ?  " 

"Na." 

"Weel,  then,  my  reason  was  just  this, 
that  I  didna  ken  mysel'." 


CHAPTER  II. 

CONTAINING    THE     CIRCUMSTANCES    WHICH  LED   TO 
THE    DEPARTURE  OF  HAGGART. 

IN  the  future  Haggart's  mind  was  to  be- 
come a  book  in  which  he  could  turn  up  any 
page  wanted,  but  its  early  stage  was  a  ravel 
not  worth  harking  back  to  unless  for  pur- 
poses of  comparison.  He  could  never, 
therefore,  when  questioned,  say  for  certain 
that  between  the  session-house  and  Tillyloss 
he  had  met  a  soul  except  the  Auld  Licht 
minister,  to  see  whom  was  naturally  to'  feel 
him.  At  the  foot  of  Tilly,  however,  he  was 
taken  aback  to  find  a  carriage  and  two  horses 
standing. 

The  sight  knocked  all  the  news  he  had 
heard  about  the  funeral  sermon  out  of  his 
head,  and  left  him  with  just  sufficient  sense 
to  put  his  back  to  the  wall  and  assume  the 
appearance  of  a  man  who  would  begin  to 
think  directly.  First  he  gazed  at  the  horses 
and  said, 

"Ay." 

Then  he  looked  less  carefully  at  the  coach- 
man. 


$ittjjto#0  ^nwttal      ,        15 


"Yes,  "he  said. 

Lastly,  he  gave  both  eyes  to  the  carriage, 
and  corroborated  his  previous  remarks  with, 

"Umpha." 

In  themselves  these  statements  suggest 
little,  though  they  really  left  Haggart  master 
of  the  situation.  The  first  was  his  own 
answer  to  the  question,  "Will  these  be 
Balribbie's  beasts  ? "  and  the  second  was 
merely  a  stepping-stone  to  the  third,  which 
was  a  short  way  of  saying  that  the  ladies 
had  called  on  Chirsty  at  last. 

Tammas's  wife.  Chirsty,  had  been  a  serv- 
ant at  Balribbie,  the  mistress  of  which  had 
promised,  as  most  of  Thrums  was  aware,  to 
call  on  her  some  day. 

"  Ye'll  be  none  the  better  though  she  does 
call,"  Haggart  used  to  say,  to  which  Chirsty's 
inhuman  answer  was, 

"Maybe  no;  but  it'll  make  every  other 
woman  in  Tillyloss  miserable." 

Every  day  for  a  year  Chirsty  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  ladies,  after  which  it  was  the 
neighbors  who  spoke  of  the  promised  visit 
rather  than  herself.  But  evidently  the  ladies 
had  come  after  all,  and  the  question  for 
Tammas  was  whether  to  face  them  or  step 
about  Tilly  until  they  had  driven  away.  It 
is  difficult,  no  doubt,  to  believe  that  there 
ever  was  a  time  when  Haggart  would  rather 
have  hidden  behind  a  dyke  than  converse 
with  the  gentry,  but  I  have  this  from  him- 


1 6  ^  MlyHwt  jfarodal. 


self.  He,  whose  greatest  topic  in  the  future 
was  to  be,  Women,  and  Why  we  should 
Put  up  with  Them,  however  Unreasonable, 
could  not  think  of  the  proper  thing  to  say  to 
the  ladies  of  Balribbie. 

"Losh,  losh,"  he  has  said,  when  casting 
his  mind  back  to  this  period,  ' '  it's  hard  to 
me  to  believe  that  the  unhumorous  man 
swithering  at  the  foot  of  Tilly  that  nicht 
was  really  Tammas  Haggart,  and  no  just 
somebody  dressed  up  in  Tammas  Haggart's 
image." 

If  it  was  hard  to  Tammas,  how  much 
harder  to  the  like  of  us  ! 

Without  actually  deciding  to  show  tail, 
Tammas  continued  to  lean  heavily  against 
the  wall,  where  he  was  not  conspicuous  to 
two  women  who  passed  a  little  later  with 
baskets  on  their  arms. 

' '  I  assure  ye  Chirsty's  landed, "  one  of  them 
said,  "  for  she  has  her  grand  folk  after  all." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  other,  "  and  Tammas  is 
no  in,  so  she'll  no  need  to  explain  how  her 
man's  so  lang  and  thin  by  what  he  was 
when  she  exhibited  him  at  Balribbie. " 

"What  do  ye  mean,  ye  limmers  ?"  cried 
Haggart,  stepping  into  sight.  "I  was  never 
at  Balribbie." 

They  slipped  past "  him  giggling,  with  the 
parting  shots — 

"  Chirsty  can  tell  ye  what  we  mean,"  and 

"And  so  can  Jeames  Pitbladdo." 


jtamtat.  17 


Haggart  probably  sent  his  under  lip  over 
the  upper  one,  for  that  was  his  way  when 
troubled.  He  was  aware  that  Chirsty  had 
very  nearly  married  Pitbladdo,  but  these 
women  meant  something  else.  Without 
knowing  that  he  was  doing  so,  he  marched 
straight  for  his  house,  and  was  half-way  up 
the  outside  stair  when  the  door  opened,  and 
two  ladies,  accompanied  by  Chirsty,  came 
out.  Haggart  did  not  even  know  what  they 
were  like,  though  he  was  to  become  such 
an  authority  on  the  female  face  and  figure. 
He  stopped,  wanting  the  courage  to  go  on 
and  the  discourtesy  to  turn  back.  So  he 
merely  stood  politely  in  their  way. 

Chirsty  gave  her  curls  an  angry  shake  as 
she  saw  him,  but  he  had  to  be  acknowl- 
edged. 

"  This  is  himsel '/"'she  said,  with  the  con- 
tempt a  woman  naturally  feels  for  her 
husband. 

Thus  cornered,  Tammas  opened  his  mouth 
wide,  to  have  his  photograph  taken,  as  it 
were,  by  the  two  ladies.  The  elder  smiled 
and  said, 

"  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance, 
James, " 

Tammas  thinks  she  said  more,  but  could 
never  swear  to  it.  To  keep  up  with  her  quick 
way  of  speaking  was  a  race  for  him,  and  at 
the  word  "James  "  he  stumbled,  as  against  a 
stone.  When  he  came  to  himself, 


"Thank  ye,  mem/'  he  said,  "but  my 
name ' 

Here  Chirsty  gave  him  a  look  that  made 
him  lose  his  words. 

"  Let  the  leddies  pass,  can  ye  no  ?  "  she 
exclaimed. 

For  a  moment  Tammas  did  not  see  how 
they  could  pass,  unless  by  returning  to  the 
house,  when  he  could  follow  them  and  so 
get  rid  of  himself.  Then  he  had  the  idea  of 
descending. 

"  At  the  same  time,"  he  said,  picking  up 
the  lost  words,  "  my  name 

"  Dinna  argy  bargy  with  the  leddies,"  said 
Chirsty,  tripping  down  the  stair  like  a  lady 
herself,  but  not  hoisting  the  color  that  would 
at  that  moment  have  best  become  her. 

"  You  must  come  out  to  Balribbie  again 
and  see  us,  James,"  the  elder  lady  remarked 
by  way  of  good-night. 

Tammas  turned  a  face  of  appeal  to  his 
other  visitor,  who  had  been  regarding  him 
curiously. 

"Do  you  know,  James,"  she  said,  "I 
would  not  have  recognized  you  again  ?  " 

"  Very  like,"  answered  Tammas,  "  for  ye 
never  saw  me." 

"  Be  ashamed  of  yourself,  James,"  cried 
Chirsty,  shocked  to  hear  husband  of  hers 
contradict  a  lady. 

The  young  lady,  however,  only  smiled. 

"  Oh,   James,"    she  said,    playfully,    "to 


^cumtul  19 


think  you  have  forgotten  me,  and  I  poured 
out  your  tea  that  day  at  Balribbie  with  my 
own  hand." 

In  his  after  years  Tammas,  tempted  to  this 
extent,  would  have  answered  in  some  gallant 
words  such  as  the  young  lady  could  have 
taken  away  with  her  in  the  carriage.  But 
that  night  he  was  only  an  ordinary  man. 

"  I  never  set  foot  in  Bal "  he  was 

replying,  when  Chirsty  interfered. 

"  Well  he  minds  of  it,"  she  said,  auda- 
ciously, "and  no  farther  back  than  Monday 
he  says  to  me,  'That  was  a  cup  of  tea,'  he 
says,  '  as  I  never  tasted  the  marrows  of.' " 

"  Wuman  !  "  cried  Tammas. 

"  See  to  the  house,  James,"  said  Chirsty, 
"and  I'll  go  as  far  as  the  carriage  with  the 
ladies." 

When  Chirsty  returned,  five  minutes  after- 
wards, her  husband  was  standing  where  she 
had  left  him. 

"  My  name,  mem,"  he  was  saying  to  the 
stair,  "is  not  James,  but  Tammas,  audit's 
gospel  I  tell  ye  when  I  say  I  was  never  at 
Balribbie  in  my  born  days." 

Chirsty  passed  him  without  a  word,  and 
went  into  the  house,  slamming  the  door. 
Tammas  and  his  tantrums  did  not  seriously 
disturb  her,  but  she  had  been  badly  used  on 
her  way  back  from  the  carriage.  While 
helping  the  ladies  to  their  seats  she  had  been 
happily  conscious  of  Kitty  Crabb  peeping  ai 


2o  §, 


the  proud  sight  from  the  back  of  the  doctor's 
dyke,  and  as  Kitty  was  the  most  celebrated 
gossip  in  Tillyloss,  Chirsty  thought  to  her- 
self, ' '  It'll  be  through  Tilly  before  bedtime. " 

"Ay,  Kitty,"  she  said,  on  her  way  back, 
looking  over  the  dyke,  "that  was  the  Balrib- 
bie  family  calling  on  me." 

Kitty,  however,  could  never  stand  Chirsty's 
airs,  andsawan  opportunity  of  humbling  her. 

"  I  saw  nobody,"  she  answered. 

"They've  been  in  my  house  since  half 
nine,"  cried  Chirsty  anxiously,  "and  that 
was  their  carriage. " 

"  I  saw  no  carriage,"  said  Kitty  cruelly. 

"  I  saw  ye  gaping  at  it  ower  the  dyke," 
Chirsty  screamed,  "and  that's  it  ye  hear 
driving  east  the  road." 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  said  Kitty. 

"Katrine  Crabb,"  cried  Chirsty,  "think 
shame  of  yourself." 

' '  Na,  Chirsty, "  rejoined  Kitty,  ' '  ye  needna 
blame  me  if  your  grand  folk  ignore  ye." 

So  Chirsty  entered  her  house  with  the 
dread  fear  that  no  one  would  give  her  the 
satisfaction  of  allowing  that  the  Balribbie 
family  had  crossed  its  threshold.  She  was 
wringing  a  duster,  as  if  it  were  Kitty  Crabb, 
when  Tammas  stamped  up  the  stair  in  no 
mood  to  offer  sympathy. 

He  kept  his  bonnet  on,  more  like  a  visitor 
than  a  man  in  his  own  house,  but  as  he 
plumped  upon  a  stool  by  the  fire  he  flung 


21 


his  feet  against  the  tongs  in  a  way  that 
showed  he  required  immediate  attention. 

"  I'm  waiting,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Take  your  feet  off  the  fender/' replied 
Chirsty. 

"Tell  me  my  name  immediately/'  re- 
quested Tammas. 

"That's  what's  troubling  ye?  " 

"  It  is  so.     What's  my  name  ? " 

"Sal,  whatever  it  is,  I  wish  it  wasna 
mine. " 

"Your  grand  folk  called  me  Jeames." 

"So  I  noticed." 

"How  was  that? " 

"Ye  couldna  expect  the  like  of  them  to 
ken  the  ins  and  outs  of  your  name." 

"Naneof  your  tricks,  wuman  ;  I  wasna 
born  on  a  Sabbath.  It  was  you  that  said 
my  name  was  Jeames  ;  ay,  and  what's  more, 
ye  called  me  Jeames  yoursel'." 

"  Do  ye  think  I  was  to  conter  grand  folk 
like  the  Balribbie  family  ? " 

"Conter  here,  conter  there,  I  want  to 
bottom  this.  They  said  I  had  been  at 
Balribbie." 

"Weel,  I  think  ye  micht  have  been  glad 
to  take  the  credit  of  that." 

"It's  my  opinion,"  said  Tammas,  "that 
ye've  been  pretending  I  was  Jeames  Pit- 
bladdo." 

"Ye  micht  have  been  proud  of  that,  too," 
retorted  Chirsty. 


22 


"As  sure  as  death,"  said  Tammas,  "if 
ye  dinna  clear  this  up  I'll  gang  to  Balribbie 
forlicht  on't." 

"She  looked  me  in  the  face  at  that," 
Tammas  used  to  say  as  he  told  the  story, 
"and  when  she  saw  the  michty  determina- 
tion in  it  she  began  to  sing  small.  I  pointed 
to  the  place  whaur  I  wanted  her  to  stand, 
and  I  says,  '  Now,  then,  I'm  waiting/  ' 

"  I  never  pretended  to  ye,"  said  Chirsty, 
"but  what  it  was  touch  and  go  my  no 
marrying  Jeames  Pitbladdo." 

Tammas  nodded. 

"The  leddies  at  Balribbie  thocht  it  was 
him  I  was  to  marry." 

"  I  daursay." 

"They  didna  ken  about  you  at  that  time." 

"They  dinna  seem  to  ken  about  me  yet." 

"Jeames  used  to  come  about  Balribbie  a 
heap,  and  they  saw  he  was  after  me,  and 
Miss  Mary  often  said  to  me,  was  I  fond  of 
him  ?  Ay,  and  I  said  he  was  daft  about  me. 
Then  he  spiered  me,  and  after  that  they  had 
him  up  to  the  house." 

"So,  so,  and  that  was  the  time  he  got  the 
tea  ?  " 

"  It  was  so,  and  then  I  gave  up  my  place, 
them  promising  to  come  and  visit  me  when 
I  was  settled." 

"Ay,  but  Jeames  creepit  off  after  all." 

"  Weel  ye  ken  it  was  his  superstitiousness 
made  him  give  me  the  .go-by." 


KiltylW  j&cattdat*      -        23 


"  I've  heard  versions  of  the  story  frae  folk 
in  the  toon,  but  I  didna  credit  them.  Ye 
took  guid  care  never  to  tell  me  about  it 
yoursel'.  Ye  said  to  me  it  was  you  that 
wouldna  have  him,  no  that  he  wouldna  take 
you." 

"He  wanted  me,  but  he  was  always  a 
superstitious  man,  Jeames  Pitbladdo.  He 
was  never  fonder  of  me  than  when  we 
parted." 

'•'All  I  ken/'  said  Tammas,  "is  that  he 
wouldna  buy  the  ring  to  ye,  and  that  must 
either  have  been  because  he  didna  want  ye 
when  it  came  to  the  point,  or  because  he 
was  a  michty  greedy  crittur. " 

"He's  no  greedy;  and  as  for  no  caring 
for  me,  it  near  broke  his  heart  to  give  me 
up.  There  was  tears  on  his  face  when  we 
parted. " 

"Havers!  what  was  there  to  keep  him 
frae  buying  the  ring  if  he  wanted  it  ?  " 

"  His  superstitiousness. " 

"What  is  there  superstitious  about  a 
ring?" 

"  It  wasna  the  ring;  it  was  the  hiccup 
did  it." 

"  Ay,  I  heard  there  was  a  hiccup  in  the 
story,  but  I  didna  fash  about  it." 

"Jeames  did  though,  and  it  was  a  very 
queery  thing,  I  can  tell  ye,  though  I  didna 
put  the  wecht  on  it  that  he  did.  As  many 
a  one  kens  forby  me,  he  walked  straight  to 


jtamtat. 


Peter  Lambie's  shop  to  buy  the  ring,  and 
just  as  he  had  his  hand  on  the  door  he  took 
the  hiccup.  Ye  ken  what  a  superstitious 
man  Jeames  is." 

"If  I  wanted  a  wife  it's  no  hiccup  would 
stand  in  the  road." 

"Because  you're  ower  ignorant  to  be 
superstitious.  And  Jeames  didna  give  in  at 
the  first  try.  He  was  back  at  the  shop  the 
next  nicht,  and  there  he  took  the  hiccup 
again.  Then  he  came  to  me  and  said  in 
terrible  disappointment  as  it  would  be 
wicked  to  marry  in  the  face  of  Providence. 
I  never  saw  a  man  so  crushed  like." 

"Ay,  I'm  no  saying  but  what  this  may 
be  true,  but  it  doesna  explain  your  reason 
for  calling  me  Jeames. " 

"I  call  ye  Tammas  as  a  rule,  when  it's 
necessary  to  mention  your  name.  Ye  canna 
deny  that." 

"Tell  me  how  I'm  Jeames  to  the  gentry." 

"I  wasna  to  disgrace  mysel'  to  them, 
was  I  ? " 

"Whaur's  the  disgrace  in  Tammas  ?" 

"Ye  maun  see,  Tammas  Haggart,  dull  as 
ye  are,  that  it  was  a  trying  position  for  me 
to  be  in.  When  I  left  Balribbie  the  leddies 
thocht  I  was  to  marry  Jeames  Pitbladdo  ; 
did  they  no  ?  " 

"  I  daursay. " 

"And  I  had  told  them  Jeames  was  com- 
plete daft  about  me ;  and  so  he  was,  for  he 


25 


called  his  very  porridge  spoon  after  me,  a 
thing  you  never  did." 

"  Did  I  ever  pretend  to  you  I  had  these 
political  ways  ? " 

"  I  wouldna  have  believed  it  though  you 
did.  But  was  ever  mortal  woman  left  in 
sic  a  predicament  because  of  a  superstition  ? 
Nat'rally,  when  I  married  you,  I  didna  let 
on  to  the  Balribbie  family  as  ye  wasna 
Jeames  Pitbladdo,  and  Jeames  Pitbladdo 
they  think  ye  to  this  day.  What  harm  does 
it  do  ye  ?  " 

"Harm!  It  leaves  me  complete  mixed 
up  about  mysel'.  Chirsty  Todd,  ye  have 
disgraced  me  this  merit." 

Here  Chirsty  turned  on  him. 

"I've  disgraced  ye,  have  I?  And  wha 
has  shamed  me  every  nicht  for  years,  if  no' 
yersel',  Tammas  Haggart  ?  " 

' '  In  what  way  have  I  shamed  ye  ?  " 

"In  many  a  way,  and  particularly  with 
what  ye  say  at  family  worship.  Take  your 
feet  off  that  fender." 

"I  keep  my  feet  on  the  fender  till  I  hear 
what  new  blether  this  is  ;  ay,  and  longer  if 
Hike." 

' '  The  things  ye  say  in  the  prayer  is  an 
insult." 

"Canny,  Chirsty  Todd.  That  prayer,  as 
weel  ye  ken,  was  learned  out  of  a  book,  the 
which  was  lended  to  me  for  the  purpose  by 
a  flying  stationer. " 


26 


"Ye're  a  puir  crittur  if  ye  canna  make  up 
what  to  say  yersel'.  Do  you  think  you'll 
ever  be  an  elder?  Not  you." 

"  Wha  wants  to  be  an  elder?  " 

"None  of  your  blasphemy,  Tammas  Hag- 
gart." 

"What's  wrang  with  the  prayer?  " 

"  Gang  through  it  in  your  head,  and  you'll 
soon  see  that." 

Tammas  repeated  the  prayer  aloud,  but 
without  enlightenment  ;  whereupon  Chirsty 
nearly  went  the  length  of  shaking  him. 

"Did  ye  not  pray  this  minute,"  she  said, 
"  'for  the  heads  of  this  house,  and  also  the 
children  thereof?'" 

"I  did  so." 

"And  have  ye  no*  repeated  these  words 
every  nicht  for  near  three  years  ?  " 

"And  what  about  that?  " 

"Tammas  Haggart,  have  we  any  bairns  ? 
Is  there  'children  thereof?  " 

Tammas  used  to  say  that  at  this  point  he 
took  his  feet  off  the  fender.  When  he  spoke 
it  was  thus — 

"As  sure  as  death,  Chirsty,  I  never thocht 
of  that." 

His  intention  was  to  soothe  the  woman, 
but  the  utter  unreasonableness  of  the  sex,  as 
he  has  pointed  out,  was  finely  illustrated  by 
the  way  Chirsty  took  his  explanation. 

"  Ye  never  thocht  of  it !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"Tammas,  you're  a  most  aggravating  man/' 


27 


In  his  humorous  period,  Haggart  could 
have  stood  even  this,  but  that  night  it  was 
beyond  bearing.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  and 
stumbled  to  the  door. 

"Chirsty  Todd,"  he  turned  to  say,  slowly 
and  emphatically,  "  you're  a  vain  tid.  But 
beware,  woman,  there's  others  than  Jeames 
Pitbladdo  as  can  take  the  hiccup. " 

Chirsty  had  strange  cause  to  remember 
this  prophecy,  but  at  the  moment  it  only 
sent  her  running  to  the  door.  Tammas  was 
half-way  down  Tillyloss  already,  but  she 
caught  him  in  the  back  with  this  stone  : 

"Guid-nicht,  Jeames  !" 

With  these  words  the  Thrums  Odyssey 
began. 


28  i  friUto^  f  ramtef 


CHAPTER  III. 

SHOWS  HOW  HAGGART  SAT  ON  A  DYKE  LOOK 
ING  AT  HIS  OWN  FUNERAL. 

Haggart  must  have  left  Tillyloss  with 
Chirsty  heavy  on  his  mind,  for  an  hour  after- 
wards he  was  suprised  to  find  himself  out  of 
Thrums.  He  was  wandering  beneath  trees 
alongside  the  Whunny  drain,  which  is  said 
to  have  been  chiseled  from  the  rocks  when 
men's  wages  were  fourpence  a  day.  Here 
he  sat  down,  preparatory  to  turning  back. 
It  was  now  past  his  usual  bedtime,  and  he 
had  been  twelve  hours  at  work  that  day. 

"I  canna  say  whether  I  sat  lang  think- 
ing about  Chirsty,"  he  afterwards  admitted; 
"but  I  mind  watching  a  water-rat  running 
out  and  in  among  some  nettles  till  it  got 
mixed  in  my  mind  with  the  shuttle  of  my 
loom,  and  by  that  time  I  was  likely  sleep- 
ing." 

The  probability  is  that  Tammas,  who  met 
no  one,  walked  west  from  Tillyloss  to  Susie 
Linn's  pump,  where  he  took  the  back  wynd 
and  made  for  the  drain  edge  by  the  west 
town-end.  This  is  the  route  we  have  usually 


miyH*w  jfoautal  29 


given  him — though  Lookaboutyou  sends 
him  round  by  the  den — and  I  have  walked 
it  often  with  Tammas  when  we  were  draw- 
ing up  a  sort  of  map  of  his  wanderings. 
The  last  time  I  did  this  was  in  the  company 
of  William  Byars,  who  came  back  to  Thrums 
recently  after  nearly  thirty  years'  absence, 
and  spoke  of  Haggart  the  moment  his  eyes 
lighted  again  on  Tillyloss.  Those  that  saw 
him  say  that  William  was  overcome  with 
emotion  when  he  gazed  at  the  memorable 
outside  stair,  and  at  last  walked  away  softly 
saying,  "  Haggart  was  a  man."  What  I  can 
say  of  my  own  knowledge  is  that  William 
met  me  one  day  as  I  was  coming  into 
Thrums  from  my  school-house,  and  asked 
me  as  a  favor  to  go  round  the  Haggart  places 
with  him.  This  I  mention  as  showing  what 
a  hold  the  affair  we  are  now  tracking  took 
upon  the  popular  mind. 

I  pointed  out  to  William  the  very  spot  on 
which  Tammas  fell  asleep.  The  drain  edge 
path  crossed  the  burn  at  that  time  by  a  foot- 
bridge of  stone,  and  climbed  a  paling  into 
the  Long  Parks  of  Auchtersmellie.  A  hoard- 
ing has  been  erected  on  this  bridge  to  make 
travelers  go  another  way,  but  it  is  also  as  good 
as  a  sign-post,  for  ten  yards  due  south  from  it 
stands  the  short  thick  beech  against  which 
Tammas  Haggart  undoubtedly  slept  for 
nearly  seven  hours  on  that  queer  night. 
Even  Lookaboutyou  admits  this. 


30 


To  make  the  scene  as  vivid  as  possible, 
William,  at  my  suggestion,  sat  down  be- 
neath the  tree  like  one  sleeping.  I  then  went 
a  little  way  into  the  Long  Parks  and  came 
back  hurriedly,  making  pretense  that  it  was 
a  dark  night.  I  climbed  the  paling,  crossed 
the  bridge — there  being  two  loose  spars  in 
the  hoarding — and  was  passing  on  when 
suddenly  I  saw  a  man  sleeping  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree.  When  regarding-  him  I  shivered, 
as  if  it  was  the  depth  of  winter,  and  then 
noted  that  he  had  on  a  thick  top-coat.  After 
a  little  hesitation,  I  raised  him  cautiously 
andgotthe  coat  off  without  wakeninghim.  I 
was  rushing  off  with  it  when  I  remembered 
that  the  night  was  cold  for  him  as  well  as 
for  me,  and  flung  my  old  coat  down  beside 
him.  Then  I  hurried  off,  but  of  course  came 
back  directly,  the  make-believe  being  over. 

Something  very  like  this  happened  while 
Haggart  was  asleep,  though  no  human  eye 
witnessed  the  scene.  All  we  are  sure  of  is 
that  the  thief  was  dressed  in  corduroys  like 
Tammas's,  and  that  the  coat  he  left  behind 
him  was  a  thin  linen  one,  coarse,  stained — 
though  not  torn — and  apparently  worthless. 
There  were  twelve  buttons  on  it — an  unusual 
number,  but  not,  as  Tammas  discovered,  too 
many.  It  is  a  matter  for  regret  that  this 
coat  was  not  preserved. 

No  doubt  Tammas  was  shivering  when  he 
woke  up,  but  all  his  minor  troubles  were  swal- 


Randal  31 


lowed  in  the  loss  of  his  top-coat  which  was 
not  only  a  fine  one,  but  contained  every 
penny  he  had  in  the  world,  namely,  seven 
shillings  and  sixpence  in  a  linen  bag.  He 
climbed  into  the  Long  Parks  looking  for  the 
thief;  he  ran  along  the  drain  edge  looking 
for  him,  and  finally  he  sat  down  in  dull 
despair.  It  was  a  cruel  loss,  and  now  not 
his  indignation  with  Chirsty,  but  Chirsty 's 
case  against  him,  shook  his  frame. 

"  The  first  use  I  ever  made  of  the  linen 
coat,"  he  allowed,  "  was  to  wipe  the  water  off 
my  een  wi't. " 

Only  fear  of  Chirsty  can  explain  Haggart's 
next  step,  which  was,  after  putting  on  the 
linen  coat,  to  wander  off  by  the  Long  Parks, 
instead  of  at  once  returning  to  Tillyloss. 

I  did  not  take  William  over  the  ground 
covered  by  Haggart  during  the  next  three 
days  ;  indeed,  the  great  part  of  it  is  only 
known  to  me  by  vague  report.  Tammas 
doubtless  had  no  notion  when  he  ran  away, 
as  one  might  call  it,  from  Chirsty,  that  he 
would  sleep  next  night  thirty  miles  from 
Thrums.  At  the  back  of  the  house  of  Auch- 
tersmellie,  however,  he  fell  in  with  a  wander- 
ing tailor,  bound  for  a  glen  farm,  where  six 
weeks'  work  awaited  him.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  these  parts,  but  Tammas  offered  to 
walk  a  few  miles  with  him,  and  ended  by 
going  the  whole  way.  Of  Haggart's  experi- 
ences at  this  time  I  know  much,  but  none 


^  VUgtaf 


of  them  is  visible  beside  the  surprising  event 
that  sent  him  homewards  striding. 

It  takes  one  aback  to  think  that  Haggart 
might  never  have  been  a  humorist  had  not 
one  of  the  buttons  fallen  off  his  coat.  The 
immediate  effect  of  this  was  dramatic  rather 
than  humorous.  The  tailor  picked  up  the 
button  to  sew  it  on  to  the  coat  again,  but, 
surprised  by  its  weight,  had  the  curiosity  to 
tear  its  linen  covering  with  his  scissors. 
Then  he  drew  in  his  breath,  extending  his 
eyes  and  looking  so  like  a  man  who  would 
presently  whistle  with  surprise  that  Hag- 
gart stooped  forward  to  regard  the  button 
closely.  Next  moment  he  had  snatched  up 
the  button  with  one  hand  and  the  coat  with 
another,  and  was  off  like  a  racer  to  the 
tinkle  of  the  starter's  bell. 

When  beyond  pursuit,  Haggart  sat  down 
to  make  certain  that  he  was  really  a  rich 
man.  The  button  that  had  fallen  off  was  a 
guinea — gold  guineas  we  said  in  Thrums, 
out  of  respect  for  them — covered  with  cloth, 
and  a  brief  examination  showed  that  the 
eleven  other  buttons  were  of  the  same  costly 
kind.  One  popular  explanation  of  this  mys- 
terious affair  is  that  the  tramp  who  left  this 
coat  to  Tammas  had  stolen  it  from  some 
person  unknown,  without  realizing  its  value. 
Who  the  owner  was  has  never  been  discov- 
ered, but  he  was  doubtless  a  miser,  who 
liked  to  carry  his  hoard  about  with  him  un- 


^cawtal  33 


ostentatiously.      I  have  known  of  larger  sums 
hidden  by  farmers  in  as  unlikely  places. 

Before  resuming  his  triumphal  march 
home,  Tammas  pricked  a  hole  in  each  of  the 
buttons,  to  make  sure  of  his  fortune,  and 
wasted  some  time  in  deciding  that  it  would 
be  safer  to  carry  the  guineas  as  they  were 
than  stowed  away  in  his  boots. 

"  Sometimes  on  the  road  home,"  he  used 
to  say,  "  I  ran  my  head  on  a  tree  or 
splashed  into  a  bog,  for  it's  sair  work  to  keep 
your  een  on  twelve  buttons,  when  they're  all 
in  different  places.  Lads,  I  watched  them 
as  if  they  were  living  things. " 

William  and  I  crossed  from  the  drain  edge 
to  the  hill,  where  the  next  scene  in  the  drama 
was  played.  The  hill  is  public  ground 
to  the  north  of  Thrums,  separated  from  it  by 
the  cemetery  and  a  few  fields.  So  steep  is 
the  descent  that  a  heavy  stone  pushed  from 
the  south  side  of  the  hill-dyke  might  crash 
two  minutes  afterwards  against  the  back 
walls  of  Tillyloss.  The  view  from  the  hill 
is  among  the  most  extensive  in  Scotland, 
and  it  also  exposes  some  dilapidated  courts 
in  Thrums  that  are  difficult  to  find  when  you 
are  within  a  few  feet  of  them.  Fifty  years 
ago  the  hill  was  nearly  covered  with  whins, 
and  it  is  half  hidden  in  them  still,  despite  the 
life-work  of  D.  Fittis. 

For  some  reason  that  I  probably  neve* 
knew,  we  always  called  him  D.  Fittis,   bu, 


34  &  ^itttjlw  Jtamtal. 


tradition  remembers  him  as  the  Whinslayer. 
At  a  time  when  neither  William  nor  I  was  of 
an  age  to  play  smuggle,  D.  Fittis's  wife  lay 
dying  far  up  Glen  Quharity.  Her  head  was 
on  D.  Fittis's  breast,  and  the  tears  on  her 
cheeks  came  from  his  eyes.  There  were  no 
human  beings  within  an  hour's  trudge  of 
them,  and  what  made  D.  Fittis  gulp  was 
that  he  must  leave  Betsy  alone  while  he 
ran  through  the  long  night  for  the  Thrums 
doctor,  or  sit  with  her  till  she  died. 

"  Ye'll  no  leave  me,  Davie?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  Betsy  ;  if  I  had  the  doctor,  ye  micht 
live  !  " 

Betsy  did  not  think  she  could  live,  but  she 
knew  her  man  writhed  in  his  helplessness, 
and  she  told  him  to  go. 

"  Put  on  your  cravat,  Davie,"  she  said, 
"  and  mind  and  button  up  your  coat." 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  loth  to  gang  frae  ye,"  he 
said  when  his  cravat  was  round  his  neck  and 
he  stood  holding  Betsy's  hand. 

"  God's  with  me,  Davie,  and  with  you," 
Betsy  said,  but  she  could  not  help  clinging  to 
him,  and  then  D.  Fittis  cried,  "  Oh,  blessed 
God,  Thou  who  didst  in  Thy  great  wis- 
dom make  poor  folk  like  me,  in  Thy  hands 
I  leave  this  woman,  and  oh,  Ye  micht  spare 
her  to  me." 

"Ay,  but  God's  will  be  done,"  said  Betsy. 
"He  kens  best." 

It  was  not  God's  will  that  these  two  should 


35 


meet  again  on  this  earth.  At  the  school- 
house,  which  was  to  become  my  home,  D. 
Fittis  found  friends  who  hastened  to  his  wife's 
side,  and  Craigiebuckle  lent  him  a  horse  on 
which  he  galloped  off  to  Thrums.  But 
among  the  whins  of  the  hill  the  horse  flung 
him  and  broke  his  leg.  D.  Fittis  tried  to 
crawl  the  rest  of  the  way,  but  he  was  found 
next  morning  in  a  wild  state  among  the 
whins,  and  he  was  never  a  sane  man  again. 
For  the  remainder  of  his  life  he  had  but  one 
passion — to  cut  down  the  whins,  and  many 
a  time,  at  early  morn,  at  noon,  and  when 
gloaming  was  coming  on,  I  have  seen  him 
busy  among  them  with  his  scythe.  They 
grew  as  fast  as  he  could  cut,  but  he  had 
loving  relatives  to  tend  him,  and  was  still 
a  kindly,  harmless  man,  though  his  laugh 
was  empty. 

William  and  I  waded  through  the  whins  to 
a  hollow  in  the  hill,  known  as  the  toad's  hole. 
It  was  here  that  Haggart,  returning  boldly 
to  Thrums  four  days  after  Chirsty  had  the 
last  word,  fell  in  with  D.  Fittis. 

''He  was  cutting  away  at  the  whins," 
Tammas  remembered,  "  and  I  dinna  think 
that  the  whole  time  me  and  him  spoke  he 
ever  raised  his  head  ;  he  was  a  terrible  busy 
man,  D.  Fittis." 

Haggart,  big  with  his  buttons,  had,  doubt- 
less, as  he  approached  the  whinslayer,  the 
bosom  of  a  victorious  soldier  marching  home 


36 


to  music.  Nevertheless  it  has  been  noticed 
that  the  warrior,  who  thrives  on  battles, 
may,  even  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest  glory, 
be  forever  laid  prone  by  a  chimney  can. 
For  Tammas  Haggart,  confident  that  a  few 
minutes  would  see  him  in  Tillyloss,  was 
preparing  a  surprise  that  rooted  him  to  the 
toad's  hole  like  a  whin.  I  have  a  poor 
memory  if  I  cannot  remember  Haggart's 
own  words  on  this  matter. 

"  I  stood  looking  at  D.  Fittis  for  a  while," 
he  told  me,  "but  I  said  nothing  loud  out, 
though  the  chances  are  I  was  pitying  the 
stocky  in  my  mind.  Then  I  says  to  him  in 
an  ordinary  voice,  not  expecting  a  dum- 
founding  answer,  I  says,  '  Ay,  D.  Fittis,  and 
is  there  onything  fresh  in  Thrums  ? ' 

"He  hacks  away  at  the  whins,  but  says 
he,  '  The  bural's  this  day. ' 

"'Man/  I  says,  'so  there's  a  funeral! 
Wha's  dead?' 

"  'Ye  ken  fine/  says  he,  implying  as  the 
thing  was  notorious. 

"  '  Na/  I  says,  'I  dinna  ken.  Wha  is 
it?' 

"'Weel/  says  he,  'it's  Tammas  Hag- 
gart/" 

Tammas  always  warned  us  here  against 
attempting  to  realize  his  feelings  at  these 
monstrous  words.  "  I  dinna  say  I  can  pict- 
ure my  position  now  mysel'/'  he  said,  "but 
one  thing  sure  is  that  for  the  moment  these 


gtmtol  37 


buttons  slipped  clean  out  of  my  head.  It 
was  an  eerie-like  thing  to  see  D.  Fittis  cutting 
away  at  the  whins  after  making  such  an 
announcement.  A  common  de^.th  couldna 
have  affected  him  less. " 

"'Say  wha's  dead  again,  D.  Fittis/  I 
cries,  minding  that  the  body  was  daft. 

"'Tammas  Haggart/  says  he,  with  the 
utmost  confidence. 

"'Man,  D.  Fittis,'  I  says,  with  uncon- 
trolled indignation,  '  ye're  a  big  liar/ 

"  'Whaever  ye  are,'  says  he,  'I  would 
lick  ye  for  saying  that  if  I  could  spare  the  time.' 

"  'Whaever  I  am  ! '  I  cries.  'Very  weel 
ye  ken  I'm  Tammas  Haggart.' 

"  '  Wha's  -the  liar  now  ? '  says  he. 

"  I  was  a  sort  of  staggered  at  this,  and  I 
says  sharp-like,  '  What  did  Tammas  Haggart 
die  of? ' 

"I  thocht  that  would  puzzle  him,  if  it  was 
just  his  daftness  that  made  him  say  I  was 
gone,  but  he  had  his  cause  of  death  ready. 
'  He  fell  down  the  quarry,'  says  he. 

"Weel,  lads,  his  confidence  about  the 
thing  sickened  me,,  and  I  says,  '  Leave  these 
whins  alone,  D.  Fittis,  and  tell  me  all  about 
it.' 

"  'I  canna  stop  my  work,'  he  says,  'but 
Tammas  Haggart  fell  down  the  quarry  four 
nichts  since.  Ou,  it  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  nicht,  and  all  Thrums  were  sleeping  when 
it  was  wakened  by  one  awful  scream.  It 


3»  &  tegto*  jtawtat. 


wakened  the  whole  town.  Ay,  a  heap  of 
folk  sat  up  sudden  in  their  beds.' 

"  'And  was  that  Tammas  Haggart falling- 
down  the  quarry  ? '  I  says,  earnest-like,  for 
I  was  a  kind  of  awestruck. 

"  '  It  was  so, '  says  he,  tearing  away  in 
the  whins. 

"  'They  didna  find  the  body,  though,'  I 
says,  looking  down  on  mysel'  with  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  'Ay/  says  he,  'the  masons  found  it  the 
next  morning,  and  there  was  a  richt  rush 
of  folk  to  see  it.' 

"  'Ye  had  been  there  ? '  I  says. 

"  'I  was/  says  he,  'and  so  was  the  wifie 
as  lives  beneath  me.  She  took  her  bairn 
too,  for  she  said,  "  It'll  be  something  for  the 
little  ane  to  boast  about  having  seen  when 
he  grows  bigger. "  Ay,  man,  it  had  been  a 
michty  fall,  and  the  face  wasna  recogniz- 
able/ 

"  'How  did  they  ken,  then/  says  I,  'that 
it  was  Tammas  Haggart  ? ' 

"  'Ou/  says  he  at  once,  'they  kent  him 
by  his  top-coat/ 

"  Lads,  of  course  I  saw  in  a  klink  that  the 
man  as  stole  my  top-coat  had  fallen  down 
the  quarry  and  been  mista'en  for  me.  Weel, 
I  nipped  mysel'  at  that.  It's  an  unco  thing 
to  say,  but  I  admit  I  was  glad  to  have  this 
proof,  as  ye  may  call  it,  that  it  was  really 
me  as  was  standing  in  the  toad's  hole. 


39 


"'When  did  ye  say  the  bural  was? 'I 
asked  him. 

"  '  It's  at  half  three  this  day, 'he  says,  'and 
I'll  warrant  it's  half  three  now,  so  if  ye  want 
to  be  sure  ye're  no  Tammas  Haggart  ye  can 
see  him  buried/ 

"  I  took  a  long  look  at  D.  Fittis,  and  it's 
gospel  I  tell  ye  when  I  say  I  never  liked 
him  from  that  minute.  Then  I  hurried  up 
the  hill  to  the  cemetery  dyke,  and  sat  down 
on  it.  Lads,  I  sat  there,  just  at  the  very 
corner,  whaur  they've  since  put  a  cross  to 
mark  the  spot,  and  I  watched  my  am  bural. 
Yes,  there  I  sat  for  near  an  hour,  me, 
Tammas  Haggart,  an  ordinary  man  at  that 
time,  getting  sic  an  experience  as  has  been 
denied  to  the  most  highly  edicated  in  the 
land.  I'm  no  boasting,  but  facts  is  facts. 

"  I'm  no  saying  it  wasna  a  fearsome  sight, 
for  I  had  a  terrible  sinking  at  the  heart,  and 
a  mortal  terror  took  grip  of  me,  so  that  I 
couldna  have  got  off  that  dyke  except  by 
falling.  Ay,  and  when  the  grave  was  filled 
up  and  the  mourners  had  dribbled  away,  I 
sat  on  with  some  uncommon  thochts  in  my 
mind.  It  would  be  wearing  on  to  four 
o'clock  when  I  got  up  shivering,  and  walked 
back  to  whaur  D.  Fittis  was  working.  There 
was  a  question  I  wanted  to  put  to  him. 

"  <D.  Fittis/ 1  says,  'was  there  ony  of  the 
Balribbie  folk  as  visited  Tammas  Haggart's 
wife  in  her  affliction  ? ' 


4o 


"  '  Ay/  says  the  crittur,  trying  to  break  a 
supple  whin  with  his  foot,  'the  wifie  as  lives 
beneath  me  was  in  the  house  at  Tillyloss 
when  in  walks  a  grand  leddy. ' 

"  'So  so/  I  says,  '  and  was  Chirsty  ta'en 
up  like  about  her  man  being  dead  ? ' 

"  'Ay/  says  D.  Fittis,  'she  was  greeting, 
but  as  soon  as  the  grand  woman  conies  in, 
Chirsty  takes  the  wifie  as  lives  beneath  me 
into  a  corner  and  whispers  to  her/ 

"'D.  Fittis/  I  says,  sternly,  'tell  me 
what  Chirsty  Todd  whispered,  for  muckle 
depends  on  it/ 

"  '  Weel/  he  says,  '  she  whispered,  "If  the 
leddy  calls  the  corpse  *  Jeames '  dinna  con- 
terdict  her/' 

"  I  denounced  Chirsty  in  my  heart  at  that, 
not  being  sufficient  of  a  humorist  to  make 
allowance  for  women,  and  I  says,  just  to  see 
if  the  thing  was  commonly  kent,  I  says, 

"  '  And  wha  would  Jeames  be  ? ' 

"{I  dinna  ken/  says  D.  Fittis,  'but 
maybe  you're  Jeames  yersel',  when  ye  canna 
be  Tammas  Haggart/ 

"  Lads,  ye  see  now  that  it  was  D.  Fittis 
as  put  it  into  my  head  to  do  what  I  subse- 
quently did.  'Jeames/  I  said,  'I'll  be  frae 
this  hour/  and  without  another  word  I  walked 
off  in  the  opposite  direction  frae  Thrums. 

"I  dinna  pretend  as  it  was  Chirsty's  be- 
havior alone  that  sent  me  wandering  through 
the  land.  I  had  a  dread  of  that  funeral  for 


41 


one  thing,  and  for  another  I  had  twelve 
gold  guineas  about  me.  Moreover,  the  am- 
bition to  travel  took  hold  of  me,  and  I 
thocht  Chirsty's  worst  trials  was  over  at  ony 
rate,  and  that  she  was  used  to  my  being 
dead  now. " 

"But  the  well-wishei  Tammas  ?  "  we 
would  say  at  this  stage. 

"Ay,  I'm  coming  to  that.  I  walked  at  a 
michty  stride  alang  the  hill  and  round  by 
the  road  at  the  back  of  the  three-cornered 
wood  to  near  as  far  as  the  farm  of  Glassal, 
and  there  I  sat  down  at  the  roadside.  I  was 
beginning  to  be  mair  anxious  about  Chirsty 
now  and  to  think  I  was  fell  fond  of  her,  for 
all  her  exasperating  ways.  I  was  torn  with 
conflicting  emotions,  of  which  the  one  said, 
*  Back  ye  go  to  Tilly  loss/  but  the  other  says, 
'  Ye'll  never  have  a  chance  like  this  again.' 
Weel,  I  could  not  persuade  mysel',  though  I 
did  my  best,  to  gang  back  to  my  loom  and 
handower  the  siller  to  Chirsty,  and  so,  as  ye 
all  ken,  I  compromised.  I  hurried  back  to 
the  hill " 

"But  ye've  forgotten  th  3  cheese?" 

"Na,  listen  :  I  hurried  back  to  the  hill, 
wondering  how  I  could  send  a  guinea  to 
Chirsty,  and  I  minded  that  I  had  about  half 
a  pound  of  cheese  in  my  pouch,  the  which  I 
had  got  at  a  farm  in  Glen  Quharity.  Weel, 
I  shoved  a  guinea  into  the  cheese,  and  back 
I  goes  to  the  hill  to  D.  Fittis. 


42 


"'D.  Fittis,'  I  says,  'I  ken  you're  an 
honest  man,  and  I  want  ye  to  take  this  bit 
of  cheese  to  Chirsty  Todd. ' 

"  'Ay,'  he  says,  Til  take  it,  but  no  till 
^t's  ower  dark  for  me  to  see  the  whins/ 

"What  a  busy  crittur  D.  Fittis  was, 
and  to  no  end  !  I  left  the  cheese  with  him, 
and  was  off  again,  when  he  cries  me 
back. 

' ' '  Wha  will  I  say  sent  the  cheese  ? '  he 
asks.  I  considered  a  minute,  and  then  I 
says,  'Tell  her/  I  says,  'that  it  is  frae  a 
well-wisher. ' 

"These  were  my  last  words  to  D.  Fittis, 
for  I  was  feared  other  folk  micht  see  me, 
and  away  I  ran.  Yes,  lads,  I  covered 
twenty  miles  that  day,  never  stopping  till  I 
got  to  Dundee." 

It  was  Haggart's  way,  when  he  told  his 
story,  to  pause  now  and  again  for  com- 
ments, and  this  was  a  point  where  we 
all  wagged  our  heads,  the  question  being 
whether  his  assumption  of  the  character  of  a 
well-wisher  was  not  a  clear  proof  of  humor. 
"That  there  was  humor  in  it,"  Haggart 
would  say,  when  summing  up,  "I  can  now 
see,  but  compared  to  what  was  to  follow,  it 
was  neither  here  nor  there.  My  humor  at 
that  time  was  like  a  laddie  trying  to  open 
a  stiff  gate,  and  even  when  he  did  squeeze 
past,  the  gate  closed  again  with  a  snap.  Ay, 
lads,  just  listen,  and  ye'll  hear  how  it  came 


jforatot.  43 


about  as  the  gate   opened  wide,    never  to 
close  again/' 

"Ye  had  the  stuff  in  ye,  though,"  Look- 
aboutyou  would  say,  "and  therefore  I'm  of 
opinion  that  ye've  been  a  humorist  frae  the 
cradle." 

"  Little  you  ken  about  it,"  Haggart  would 
answer.      "No  doubt  I  had  the  material  of 
humor  in  me,  but  it  was  raw.     I'm  thinking 
cold  water  and  kail  and  carrots  and  a  penny 
bone  are  the  materials  broth  is  made  of  ? " 
' '  They  are,  they  are. " 
"  Ay,  but  it's  no  broth  till  it  boils  !  " 
"  So  it's  no.     Ye're  richt,  Tammas." 
"Weel,  then,  it's  the  same  with  humor. 
Considering  me  as  a  humorist,  ye  micht  say 
that  when  my  travels  began  I  had  put  my 
sel'  on  the  fire  to  boil." 


44 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  WANDERINGS    OF    HAGGART. 

NOT  having  a  Haggart  head  on  my 
shoulders  I  dare  not  attempt  to  follow  the 
explorer  step  by  step  during  his  wanderings 
of  the  next  five  months.  In  that  time  he 
journeyed  through  at  least  one  country,  un- 
consciously absorbing  everything  that  his 
conjurer's  wand  could  turn  to  humor  when 
the  knack  came  to  him.  This  admission  he 
has  himself  signed  in  conversation. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  "  I  was  like  a  blind  beg- 
gar in  these  days,  and  the  dog  that  led  me 
by  a  string  was  my  impulses." 

Most  of  us  let  this  pass,  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  Haggart  could  not  have  said  it  in 
his  pre-humorous  days,  but  Snecky  Hobart 
put  in  his  word. 

"Ye  were  hardly  like  the  blind  beggar," 
he  said,  ' '  for  ye  didna  carry  a  tanker  for  folk 
to  put  bawbees  in. " 

Snecky  explained  afterwards  that  he  only 
spoke  to  give  Haggart  an  opportunity.  It 
was,  indeed,  the  way  of  all  of  us,  when  we 
saw  an  opening,  to  coax  Tammas  into  it 


gt-  £Ultjlo£0  Jtawdal.  45 


So  sportsmen  of  another  kind  can  point  out 
the  hare  to  their  dogs,  and  confidently  await 
results. 

"  Ye're  wrang,  Snecky,"  replied  Haggart. 

As  ever,  before  shooting  his  bolt,  he  then 
paused.  His  mouth  was  open,  and  he  had 
the  appearance  of  a  man  hearkening  in- 
tensely for  some  communication  from  below. 
There  were  those  who  went  the  length  of 
hinting  that  on  these  occasions  something 
inside  jumped  to  his  mouth  and  told  him 
what  to  say. 

"Yes,  Snecky,"  he  said  at  last,  "ye're 
wrang.  My  mouth  was  the  tanker,  and  the 
folk  I  met  had  all  to  pay  toll,  as  ye  may 
say,  for  they  dropped  things  into  my  mouth 
that  my  humor  turns  to  as  muckle  account 
as  though  they  were  bawbees.  I'm  no 
sure " 

"There's  no  many  things  ye're  no  sure 
of,  Tammas." 

"  And  this  is  no  one  of  them.  It's  just  a 
form  of  expression,  and  if  ye  interrupt  me 
again,  Snecky  Hobart,  I'll  say  a  sarcastic 
thing  about  you  that  instant.  What  I  was 
to  say  was  that  I'm  no  sure  but  what  a 
humorist  swallows  everybody  whole  that  he 
fads  in  with." 

The  impossibility  of  telling  everything 
that  befell  Haggart  in  his  wanderings  is  best 
proved  in  his  own  words  : 

"My  adventures,"    he    said,    "was  so 


46 


surprising  thick  that  when  I  cast  them  over 
in  my  mind  I'm  like  a  man  in  a  corn-field, 
and  every  stalk  of  corn  an  adventure.  Lads, 
it's  useless  to  expect  me  to  give  you  the 
history  of  ilka  stalk.  I  rax  out  my  left 
hand,  and  I  grip  something,  namely,  an  ad- 
venture ;  or  I  rax  out  my  right  hand  and 
grip  something,  namely,  another  adventure. 
Well,  by  keeping  straight  on  in  ony  direction 
we  wade  through  adventures  till  we  get  out 
of  the  field,  that  is  to  say,  till  we  land  back 
at  Thrums.  Ye  say  my  adventures  sounds 
different  on  different  nichts.  Precisely,  for 
it  all  depends  on  which  direction  I  splash 
off  in." 

Without  going  the  length  of  saying  that 
Haggart  splashed  more  than  was  necessary, 
I  may  perhaps  express  regret  that  he  never 
saw  his  way  to  clearing  up  certain  disputed 
passages  in  his  wanderings.  I  would,  I 
know,  be  ill-thought  of  among  the  friends 
who  survive  him  if  I  stated  for  a  fact  that  he 
never  reached  London.  There  was  a  gen- 
eral wish  that  he  should  have  taken  London 
in  his  travels,  and  if  Haggart  had  a  weakness 
it  was  his  reluctance  to  disappoint  an  audi- 
ence. I  must  own  that  he  trod  down  his 
corn-field  pretty  thoroughly  before  his  hand 
touched  the  corn-stalk  called  London,  and 
that  his  London  reminiscences  never  seemed 
to  me  to  have  quite  the  air  of  reality  that 
filled  his  recollections  of  Edinburgh.  Ad- 


47 


mitted  that  he  confirmed  glibly  as  an  eye- 
witness the  report  that  London  houses  have 
«io  gardens  (except  at  the  back),  it  remains 
undoubted  that  Craigiebuckle  confused  him 
with  the  question  : — 

"What  do  they  charge  in  London  for 
half-a-pound  of  boiling  beef  and  a  penny 
bone  ? " 

Haggart  answered,  but  after  a  pause,  as 
if  he  had  forgotten  the  price,  which  scarcely 
seems  natural.  However,  I  do  not  say  that 
he  was  never  in  London,  and  certainly  his 
curious  adventures  in  it  are  still  retailed, 
especially  one  with  an  ignorant  policeman 
who  could  not  tell  him  which  was  the  road 
to  Thrums,  and  another  with  the  doorkeeper 
of  the  House  of  Parliament,  who,  on  being 
asked  by  Haggart  "How  much  was  to 
pay  ? "  foolishly  answered  ' '  What  you 
please." 

But  though  I  heartily  approve  the  feeling 
in  Thrums  against  those  carping  critics  who 
would  slice  bits  off  the  statue  which  we  may 
be  said  to  have  reared  to  Haggart's  memory, 
some  of  the  stories  now  fondly  cherished  are 
undoubtedly  mythical.  For  instance,  what- 
ever Lookaboutyou  may  say,  I  do  not 
believe  that  Haggart  once  flung  a  clod  of 
earth  at  the  Pope.  It  is  perfectly  true  that 
some  such  story  got  abroad,  but  if  counte- 
nanced by  Haggart  it  was  only  because 
Chirsty  had  her  own  reasons_for  wanting 


48 


him  to  stand  well  with  the  Auld  Licht  minis- 
ter. Often  Haggart  was  said  in  his  own 
presence  to  have  had  adventures  in  such 
places  as  were  suddenly  discovered  by  us  in 
the  newspapers,  places  that  had  acquired  a 
public  interest,  say,  because  of  a  murder  ; 
and  then  he  neither  agreed  that  he  had  been 
there  nor  allowed  that  he  had  not.  Thus 
it  is  reasonable  to  believe  that  his  less  dis- 
criminating admirers  splashed  out  of  Hag- 
gart's  corn-field  into  some  other  body's  with- 
out noticing  that  they  had  crossed  the  dyke. 
His  silence  at  those  times  is  a  little  aggra- 
vating to  his  chronicler  now,  but  I  would 
be  the  first  to  defend  it  against  detractors. 
Unquestionably  the  length  of  time  during 
which  Haggart  would  put  his  under  lip  over 
the  upper  one,  and  so  shut  the  door  on 
words,  was  one  of  the  grandest  proofs  of  his 
humor.  However  plentiful  the  water  in  the 
dam  may  be,  there  are  occasions  when  it  is 
hanc^y  to  let  down  the  sluice. 

I  the  more  readily  grant  that  certain  of 
the  Haggart  stones  may  have  been  plucked 
from  the  wrong  fields,  because  there  still 
remain  a  sufficient  number  of  authenticated 
ones  to  fill  the  mind  with  rapture.  A  sta- 
tistician could  tell  how  far  they  would  reach 
round  the  world,  supposing  they  were  rep- 
resented by  a  brick  apiece,  or  how  long 
they  would  take  to  pass  through  a  doorway 
on  each  other's  heels.  We  never  attempted 


SMtgtow  ^cattdai  '  49 


to  count  them.  Being  only  average  men 
we  could  not  conveniently  carry  beyond  a 
certain  number  of  the  stories  about  with  us, 
and  thus  many  would  doubtless  now  be  lost 
were  it  not  that  some  of  us  loaded  ourselves 
with  one  lot  and  others  with  another.  Each 
had  his  favorites,  and  Haggart  supplied  us 
with  the  article  we  wanted,  just  as  if  he  and 
we  were  on  opposite  sides  of  a  counter. 
Thus  when  we  discuss  him  now  we  may 
have  new  things  to  tell  of  him  ;  nay,  even 
the  descendants  of  his  friends  are  worth 
listening  to  on  Haggart,  for  the  stories  have 
been  passed  on  from  father  to  son. 

Some  enjoyed  most  his  reminiscences  of 
how  he  felt  each  time  he  had  to  cut  off 
another  button. 

"  Lads,"  he  said,  "  I  wasna  unlike  a  doc- 
tor. Ye  mind  Doctor  Skene  saying  as  how 
the  young  doctors  at  the  college  grew  faint 
like  at  first  when  they  saw  blood  gushing, 
but  by  and  by  they  became  so  michty  hardy 
that  they  could  off  with  a  leg  as  cool  as 
though  they  were  just  hacking  sticks  ?  " 

"  Ay,  he  said  that." 

"  Weel,  that  was  my  sensation.  When 
I  cut  off  the  first  button  it  was  like  sticking 
the  knife  into  mysel',  and  I  did  it  in  the  dark 
because  I  hadna  the  heart  to  look  on.  Ay, 
the  next  button  was  a  stiff  job  too,  but  after 
that  I  grew  what  ye  may  call  hard-hearted, 
and  it's  scarce  going  beyond  the  truth  to  'say 

4 


50  ^  MtylWtf 


that  a  time  came  when  I  had  a  positive 
pleasure  in  sending  the  siller  flying.  I 
dinna  ken,  thinking  the  thing  out  calmly 
now,  but  what  I  was  like  a  wild  beast  drunk 
with  blood/' 

"What  was  the  most  ye  ever  spent  in  a 
week  ? " 

"I  could  tell  ye  that,  but  I  would  rather 
ye  wanted  to  ken  what  was  the  most  I  ever 
spent  in  a  nicht. " 

"  How  muckle?  " 

"Try  a  guess." 

"Twa  shillings?" 

"Twa  shillings!"  cried  Haggart,  with  a 
contempt  that  would  have  been  severe  had 
the  coins  been  pennies  ;  "ay,  sax  shillings 
is  nearer  the  mark." 

"In  one  nicht?" 

"Ay,  in  one  single  nicht." 

"Ye  must  have  lost  some  of  it  ?  " 

"Not  a  bawbee.  Ah,  T'nowhead,  man, 
ye  little  ken  how  the  money  goes  in  grand 
towns.  Them  as  lives  like  lords  must 
spend  like  lords." 

"That's  reasonable  enough,  but  I  would 
like  to  hear  the  price  of  ilka  thing  ye  got 
that  nicht?" 

"And  I  could  tell  ye.  What  do  ye  say 
to  a  shilling  and  saxpence  for  a  bed?  " 

"I  say  it  was  an  intake/" 

"Of  course  it  was,  but  I  didna  grudge1,  it.'1 

"Ye  didna?" 


51 


"No,  I  didna.  It  was  in  Edinburgh,  and 
my  last  nicht  in  the  place,  and  also  my  last 
button,  so  I  thinks  to  mysel'  I'll  have  one 
tremendous,  memorable  nicht,  and  then  I'll 
go  hame.  Lads,  I  was  a  sort  of  wearying 
forChirsty." 

"Ay,  but  there's  four  shillings  and  sax- 
pence  to  account  for  yet." 

"There  is  so.  Saxpence  of  it  goes  for 
a  glass  of  whisky  in  the  smoking-room. 
Lads,  that  smoking-room  was  a  sight  utterly 
baffling  imagination.  There  was  no  chairs 
in  it  except  great  muckle  saft  ones,  a  hantle 
safter  than  a  chaff  bed,  and  in  ilka  chair 
some  nobleman  or  other  with  his  feet  up  in 
the  air.  Ay,  I  a  sort  of  slipped  the  first 
time  I  tried  a  chair,  but  I  wasna  to  be  beat, 
for  thinks  I,  '  Lords  ye  may  be,  but  I  have 
paid  one  and  sax  for  my  bed  as  weel  as 
you,  and  this  nicht  I'll  be  a  lord  too  ! ' 
Keeping  the  one  and  sax  before  me  made 
me  bold,  and  soon  I  was  sprawling  in  a 
chair  with  my  legs  sticking  ower  the  arm 
with  the  best  of  them.  Ay,  it  wasna  so 
much  enjoyable  as  awe-inspiring." 

"That  just  brings  ye  up  to  twa  shillings." 

' '  Weel,  there  was  another  one  and  sax 
for  breakfast. " 

"Astounding!  " 

' '  Oh,  a  haver,  of  course,  but  we  got  as 
muckle  as  we  liked,  and  I  assure  ye  it's 
amazing  how  much  ye  can  eat,  when  ye 


52 


ken  ye  have  to  pay  for  it  at  ony  rate.  Then 
there  was  ninepence  for  a  luncheon." 

' '  What's  that  ?  " 

' '  I  didna  ken  mysel'  when  I  heard  them 
speaking  about  it,  but  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
grand  name  for  a  rabbit." 

"Man,    is  there  rabbits  in  Edinburgh?" 

"  Next  there  was  threepence  of  a  present 
to  the  waiter-loon,  and  I  finished  up  with  a 
shilling's  worth  of  sangwiches." 

"  Na,  that's  just  five  and  saxpence. " 

Haggart,  however,  would  not  always  tell 
how  the  remaining  sixpence  went.  At 
first  he  admitted  having  squandered  it  on 
the  theater,  but  after  he  was  landed  by 
Chirsty  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  he  with- 
drew this  reminiscence,  and  put  another 
sixpence-worth  in  the  smoking-room  in  its 
place. 

As  a  convincing  proof  of  the  size  of  Edin- 
burgh, Haggart  could  tell  us  how  he  lost  his 
first  lodgings  in  it.  They  were  next  house 
to  a  shop  which  had  a  great  show  of  vege- 
tables on  a  board  at  the  door,  and  Haggart 
trusted  to  this  shop  as  a  landmark.  When 
he  returned  to  the  street,  however,  there 
were  greengrocery  shops  everywhere,  and 
after  asking  at  a  number  of  doors  if  it  was 
here  he  lived,  he  gave  up  the  search.  This 
experience  has  been  paralleled  in  later  days 
by  a  Tilliedrum  minister,  who  went  for  a 
holiday  to  London,  and  forgot  the  name  of 


53 


the  hotel  he  was  staying  at ;  so  he  tele- 
graphed to  Tilliedrum  to  his  wife,  asking 
her  to  tell  him  what  address  he  had  given 
her  when  he  wrote,  and  she  telegraphed 
back  to  him  to  come  home  at  once. 

Like  all  the  great  towns  Haggart  visited, 
Edinburgh  proved  to  be  running  with  low 
characters,  with  whom,  as  well  as  with  the 
flowers  of  the  place — for  he  was  received 
everywhere — he  had  many  strange  advent- 
ures. His  affair  with  the  bailie  would  make 
a  long  story  itself,  if  told  in  full  as  he  told 
it  ;  also  what  he  did  to  the  piper  ;  how  he 
climbed  up  the  Castle  rocks  for  a  wager ; 
why  he  once  marched  indignantly  out  of  a 
church  in  the  middle  of  the  singing  ;  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  he  cut  off  his  sixth 
button  ;  his  heroic  defense  of  a  lady  who 
had  been  attacked  by  a  footpad  ;  his  advent- 
ures with  the  soldier  who  was  in  love  and 
had  a  silver  snuffbox  ;  his  odd  meeting  with 
James  Stewart,  lawful  King  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland.  With  this  personage,  between 
whom  and  a  throne  there  only  stood  the 
constables,  Haggart  of  Thrums  hobnobbed 
on  equal  terms.  The  way  they  met  was 
this.  Haggart  was  desirous  of  the  sensation 
of  driving  in  a  carnage,  but  grudged  much 
outlay  on  an  experience  that  would  soon  be 
over.  He  accordingly  opened  the  door  of  a 
street  vehicle  and  stepped  in,  when  the 
driver  was  not  looking.  They  had  a  pleas- 


54  ^  Cfttgfea 


ant  drive  along-  famous  Princes  Street,  and 
would  probably  have  gone  farther  had  not 
Haggart  become  aware  that  some  one  was 
hanging  on  behind.  In  his  indignation  he 
called  the  driver's  attention  to  this,  which 
led  to  his  own  eviction.  The  hanger-on 
proved  to  be  no  other  than  the  hapless 
monarch,  with  whom  Haggart  subsequently 
broke  a  button.  For  a  king,  James  Stew- 
art, who  disguised  his  royal  person  in  cordu- 
roys, was,  as  Haggart  allowed,  very  ill  in 
order.  The  spite  of  the  authorities  had 
crushed  that  once  proud  spirit,  and  darkened 
his  intellect,  and  he  took  his  friend  to  a 
gambling-house,  where  he  nodded  to  the 
proprietor. 

"  Whether  they  were  in  company,  with 
designs  on  my  buttons,"  Haggart  has  said, 
"  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  say,  but  I  bear  no 
ill-will  to  them.  They  treated  me  most 
honorable.  Ay,  the  king,  as  we  may  call 
him  if  we  speak  in  a  low  voice,  advises  me 
strong  to  gamble  a  button  at  one  go,  for, 
says  he,  'You're  sure  to  win.'  Lads,  it's  no 
for  me  to  say  a  word  against  him,  but  I 
thocht  I  saw  him  wink  to  the  proprietor  lad, 
and  so  I  says  in  a  loud  voice,  says  I,  '  I'll 
gamble  half-a-crown  first,  and  if  I  win,  then 
I'll  put  down  a  button.'  The  proprietor  a 
sort  of  nods  to  the  king  at  that,  and  I  plunks 
down  my  half-crown.  Weel,  lads,  I  won  five 
shillings  in  a  clink." 


55 


"  Ay,  but  they  were  just  waiting  for  your 
guinea." 

"It  may  have  been  so,  Andrew,  but  we 
have  no  proof  of  that ;  for,  ye  see,  as  soon 
as  I  got  the  five  shillings  and  had  buttoned 
it  up  in  my  pouch,  I  says,  '  I'll  be  stepping 
hame  now/  I  says,  and  away  I  goes.  Ye 
canna  say  but  what  they  treated  me  honor- 
able. " 

"They  had  looked  thrawn  ?  " 

"  Ou,  they  did;  but  a  man's  face  is  his 
own  to  twist  it  as  he  pleases. '" 

"And  ye  never  saw  the  king  again  ? " 

"Ay,  I  met  him  after  that  in  a  close.  I 
gave  the  aristocratic  crittur  saxpence." 

"I'll  tell  ye  what,  Tammas  Haggart  :  if 
he  was  proclaimed  king,  he  would  very 
likely  send  for  ye  to  the  palace  and  make 
ye  a  knight." 

"Man,  Snecky,  I  put  him  through  his 
catechism  on  that  very  subject,  but  he  had 
no  hope.  Ye  canna  think  how  complete 
despondent  he  was. " 

"Ye' re  sure  he  was  a  genuine  Pretender?  " 

"Na  faags  !  But  when  ye're  traveling  it 
doesna  do  to  let  on  what  ye  think,  and  I 
own  it's  a  kind  of  satisfaction  to  me  now  to 
picture  mysel'  diddling  a  king  out  of  five 
shillings.'" 

"It's  a  satisfaction  to  everybody  in 
Thrums,  Tammas,  and  more  particular  to 
Tillyloss." 


$6 


"  Ay,  Tilly  has  the  credit  of  it  in  a  man- 
ner of  speaking.  And  it  was  just  touch  and 
go,  lads,  that  Ididna  do  a  thing  with  the  siller 
as  would  have  commemorated  that  advent- 
ure among  future  ages. " 

"Ay,  man  ?  " 

"  I  had  the  notion  to  get  bawbees  for  the 
money,  namely,  one  hundred  and  thirty-twa 
bawbees,  for  of  course  I  didna  count  the 
saxpence.  Well,  what  was  I  to  do  with 
them  ?  " 

"Put  the  whole  lot  in  the  kirk-plate  the 
first  Sabbath  day  after  ye  came  back  to 
Thrums  ? " 

"  Na,  na.  My  idea  was  to  present  a  baw- 
bee to  a  hundred  and  thirty-twa  folk  in 
Thrums,  so  as  they  .could  keep  it  round  their 
necks  or  in  a  drawer  as  a  memento  of  one 
of  their  humble  fellow-townsman." 

' '  No  humble,  surely  ?  " 

"  Maybe  no,  but  when  ye  do  a  thing  in  a 
big  public  way  it's  the  proper  custom  to 
speak  of  yersel'  as  a  puir  crittur,  and  leave 
the  other  speakers  to  tell  the  truth  about  ye." 

"It's  a  pity  ye  didna  carry  out  that  no- 
tion." 

"  Na,  it's  no,  for  I  had  a  better  ane  after, 
the  which  I  did  carry  out. " 

"Yea?" 

"Ay,  I  bocht  a  broach  to  Chirsty  with  the 
siller. " 

"  Ho,  ho,  that's  whaur  she  got  the  broach  ? " 


57 


"  It  is  so,  and  though  I  dinna  want  to 
boast,  nobody  having  less  need  to  do  so,  I 
can  tell  ye  it  was  the  biggest  broach  in  Edin- 
burgh at  the  price. " 

Edinburgh  was  only  a  corner  in  Haggart's 
field  of  corn,  and  from  it  I  have  not  pulled 
half-a-dozen  stalks.  He  was  in  various  other 
great  centers  of  adventure,  and  even  in 
wandering  between  them  he  had  experiences 
such  as  would  have  been  a  load  for  any  ordi- 
nary man's  back.  Once  he  turned  showman, 
when  the  actors  were  paid  in  the  pennie? 
flung  at  them  by  admirers  in  the  audience. 
Haggart  made  for  himself  a  long  blood-red 
nose,  which  proved  such  an  irresistible  tar- 
get for  moneyed  sportsmen  that  the  other 
players  complained  to  the  management.  He 
sailed  up  canals  swarming  with  monsters  of 
the  deep.  He  proved  such  an  agreeable 
companion  at  farms  that  sometimes  he  had 
to  escape  in  the  night.  He  rescued  a  child 
from  drowning  and  cowed  a  tiger  by  the 
power  of  the  human  eye,  exactly  as  these 
things  are  done  in  a  book  which  belonged  to 
Chirsty.  He  had  eleven  guineas  with  him 
when  he  set  out,  and  without  a  note-book 
he  could  tell  how  every  penny  of  the  money 
was  spent.  Prices,  indeed,  he  remembered 
better  than  anything. 

I  might  as  well  attempt  to  walk  up  the 
wall  of  a  house  as  to  cut  my  way  through 
Haggart's  corn-field.  Before  arriving  at  the 


58 


field  I  thought  to  get  through  it  by  taking  the 
buttons  one  by  one,  but  here  I  am  at  the  end 
of  a  chapter,  and  scarcely  any  of  the  corn  is 
behind  me.  I  now  see  that  no  biographer 
will  ever  be  able  to  treat  Haggart  on  the 
grand  scale  he  demands  ;  for  humility  will 
force  .those  who  knew  him  in  his  prime  to 
draw  back  scared  from  the  attempt,  while 
younger  admirers  have  not  the  shadow  of 
his  personality  to  warn  them  of  their  respon- 
sibility. For  my  own  part,  I  publicly  back 
out  of  the  field,  and  sit  down  on  the  doctor's 
dyke  awaiting  Haggart's  return  to  Thrums. 


59 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  RETURN  OF  HAGGART. 

HAGGART  came  home  on  a  Saturday  even- 
ing, when  the  water-barrels  were  running 
over,  and  our  muddy  roads  had  lost  their 
grip.  But  at  all  times  he  took  small  note  of 
the  weather,  and  often  said  it  was  a  fine  day 
out  of  politeness  to  the  acquaintances  he 
met  casually,  when  Tillyloss  dripped  in  rain. 
To  a  man  who  has  his  loom  for  master  it 
only  occurs  as  an  after-thought  to  look  out 
at  the  window. 

His  shortest  and  natural  route  would  have 
taken  the  wanderer  to  Tillyloss  without  zig- 
zagging him  through  the  rest  of  Thrums,  but 
he  made  a  circuit  of  the  town,  and  came 
marching  down  the  Roods. 

' '  I  wanted  to  burst  upon  the  place  sudden- 
like,"  he  admitted,  "and  to  let  everybody 
see  me.  I  dinna  deny  but  what  it  was  a 
proud  moment,  lads,  as  Thrums  came  in 
sicht.  I  had  naturally  a  sort  of  contempt  for 
the  placey,  and  yet  I  was  fell  awid  to  be 
back  in  it  too,  just  as  a  body  is  glad  to  slip 
into  his  bed  at  nicht.  Ay,  foreign  parts  is 


60 


grand  for  adventure,  but  Thrums  for  com- 
pany." 

At  the  top  of  the  Roods  he  was  recognized 
by  two  boys  who  had  been  to  a  farm  for 
milk,  and  were  playing  at  swinging  their 
flagon  over  their  heads  without  dropping  its 
contents.  The  apparition  stayed  the  flagon 
in  the  air,  and  the  boys  clattered  off  scream- 
ing. Their  father  had  subsequently  high 
words  with  Tammas,  who  refused  to  refund 
the  price  of  the  milk. 

"Though  my  expectations  was  high," 
Haggart  said,  ' '  they  were  completely  beaten 
by  the  reality.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  gratifying  than  the  sensation  I  created, 
not  only  among  laddies  and  lassies  but 
among  grown  men  and  women.  Very  weel 
I  ken  that  Dan'l  Strachan  pretends  he  stood 
his  ground  when  I  came  upon  him  at  the 
mouth  of  Saunders  Rae's  close,  but  whaur 
was  the  honor  in  that,  when  the  crittur  was 
paralyzed  with  fear  ?  Ay,  he  wasna  the 
only  man  that  lost  his  legs  in  the  Roods  that 
day  ;  Will'um  Crewe  being  another.  Snecky 
Hobart,  you  was  one  of  them  as  I  walked 
into  at  Peter  Lambie's  shop  door,  and  I'll 
never  speak  to  ye  again  if  ye  dinna  allow  as 
I  scattered  ye  like  a  showman  in  the  square 
does  when  he  passes  round  the  hat." 

"  I  allow,  Tammas,  as  I  made  my  feet  my 
friend  that  nicht." 

"  And  did  I  no  send  the  women  flying  and 


a»ngta«i  jfamfal.  6 1 


skirling  in  all  directions  ?  Was  it  me  or  was 
it  no  me  that  made  Mysy  Dinnie  faint  on 
her  back  in  the  corner  of  the  school-wynd  ?" 

"It  was  you,  Tammas,  and  michty  boast- 
ful the  crittur  was  when  she  came  to,  and 
heard  she  had  fainted." 

"And  there's  a  curran  women  as  says 
they  hung  out  at  their  windows  looking  at 
me.  I  would  like  to  hear  of  one  proved 
case  in  which  ony  woman  did  that  except  at 
a  second  story  window  ? 

"Sal!  they  didna  dare  look  out  at  low 
windows.  Na,  they  were  more  like  putting 
on  their  shutters. 

"And  did  some  of  them  no  bar  their 
doors,  and  am  I  lying  when  I  say  Lisbeth 
Whamand  up  with  her  bairn  out  of  the  cradle 
and  ran  to  the  door  of  the  Auld  Licht  kirk, 
thinking  I  couldna  harm  her  there  ?  " 

"  You're  speaking  gospel,  Tammas.  And 
it  wasna  to  be  wondered  at  that  we  should 
be  terrified,  seeing  we  had  buried  ye  five 
months  before. " 

"I'm  no  saying  it  was  unnatural.  I 
would  have  been  particular  annoyed  if  ye 
had  been  so  stupid  as  to  stand  your  ground. 
And  what's  more,  if  I  had  met  the  Auld 
Licht  minister  he  would  have  run  like  the 
rest. " 

But  this  oft-repeated  assertion  of  Haggart's 
was  usually  received  in  silence.  His 
extraordinary  imagination  enabled  him  to 


62 


conceive  this  picture,  but  to  such  a  height 
we  never  rose. 

By  the  time  Haggart  reached  the  Tene- 
ments the  town  had  sufficiently  recovered 
to  follow  him  at  a  distance.  How  he 
looked  to  the  populace  has  been  frequently 
discussed,  Peter  Lambie's  description  being 
regarded  as  the  best. 

'Them  of  you,"  Peter  would  say,  drawn 
to  the  door  of  his  shop  by  Haggart  groups, 
"  as  has  been  to  the  Glen  Quharity  Hieland 
sports,  can  call  to  mind  the  competition  for 
best-dressed  Hielander.  The  Hielanders 
stands  in  their  glory  in  a  row,  and  the  grand 
leddies  picks  out  the  best-dressed  one. 
Weel,  the  competitors  tries  to  look  as  if  they 
didna  ken  they  were  being  admired,  imply- 
ing as  they're  indifferent  to  whether  they  get 
the  prize  or  no,  but,  all  the  time,  there's  a 
sort  of  pleased  smirk  on  their  faces,  mixed 
up  with  a  natural  anxiety.  Ay,  then,  that's 
the  look  Tammas  Haggart  had  when  he 
passed  my  shop. " 

"But  ye  saw  a  change  come  over  him, 
did  ye  no  ?  " 

"  I  did.  I  was  among  them  as  ran  after 
him  along  the  Tenements,  and,  though  I 
just  saw  his  back,  it  wasna  the  back  he  had 
on  when  he  passed  my  shop.  I  would  say,- 
judging  from  his  back,  as  his  chest  was 
sticking  out,  and  he  walked  with  a  sort  of 
strut,  like  the  Hielander  as  has  won  the 


Jftandal.  63 


prize  and  kens  it  would  be  a  haver  to  make 
pretense  of  modesty  ony  more." 

"But  ye  never  saw  me  look  back,  Pete," 
Haggart  said,  when  Lambie's  version  was 
presented  to  him. 

"  Na,  it  was  astonishing  how  ye  could 
have  kept  frae  turning  your  head.  Ye  was 
like  one  unaware  that  there  was  sic  a  crowd 
running  after  ye." 

"Ay,  lad,  but  very  weel  I  kent  for  all 
that.  Thinks  I  to  mysel'  as  I  walks  on 
before  ye — 'This  scene  winna  be  forgotten 
for  many  a  year/  ' 

"And  it  will  not,  Tammas.  It  did  the 
work  of  the  town  for  a  nine  days.  Ay,  I've 
often  said  myself  that  you  walked  hame  that 
nicht  more  like  a  circus  procession  than  a 
single  man.  The  only  thing  I  a  kind  of 
shake  my  head  at  is  your  saying  ye  wasna 
a  humorist  at  that  time." 

"I  didnajust  gang  that  length,  Pete.  I 
was  a  humorist  and  I  wasna  a  humorist. 
My  humor  was  just  peeping  out  of  its  hole 
like  a  rabbit,  as  ye  micht  say. " 

"Ye  said  as  when  ye  started  on  your 
wanderings  it  was  like  putting  yoursel',  con- 
sidered as  a  humorist,  on  the  fire  to  boil. 
Weel,  then,  I  say  as  ye  had  come  aboil  when 
ye  marched  through  Thrums. " 

"Na,  Lookaboutyou,  it's  an  ingenious 
argument  that ;  but  ye've  shot  ower  the  top 
of  the  target,  lad.  Ye've  all  seen  water  so 


terrible  near  the  boil  that  if  ye  touch  it  with 
your  finger  it  does  begin  to  boil  ?  " 

"Ay,  that's  true  ;  but  a  spoon  is  better  to 
touch  it  with,  in  case  you  burn  your  finger/' 

Lookaboutyou  got  a  laugh  for  this,  which 
annoyed  Tammas. 

"Take  care,  Lookaboutyou,"  he  said,  warn- 
ingly,  "  or  I'll  let  ye  see  as  my  humor  can 
burn  too.  I  ken  a  sarcastic  thing  to  say  to 
ye,  my  man." 

"  But  what  about  the  water  so  near  the 
boil  ? "  asked  Hobart,  while  Lookaboutyou 
shrunk  back. 

"My  humor  was  in  that  condition,"  said 
Haggart,  still  eying  the  foolish  farmer  threat- 
eningly, "when  I  came  back  to  Thrums. 
It  just  needed  a  touch  to  make  it  boil." 

"  And,  sal,  it  got  the  touch  !  " 

' '  Ay,  I  admit  that ;  but  no  till  the  Monday. " 

We  go  back  to  the  march  from  the  Roods 
to  Tillyloss.  In  less  time  than  it  would 
have  taken  Haggart  to  bring  his  sarcastic 
shaft  from  the  depths  where  he  stowed  these 
things  and  fire  it  into  Lookaboutyou,  he  had 
walked  triumphantly  to  Tillyloss,  and  turned 
up  the  road  that  was  presently  to  be  named  • 
after  him.  His  tail  of  fellow-townsmen 
came  to  a  stop  at  the  pump,  where  they  had 
a  good  view  of  Haggart's  house,  all  but  a 
few  daring  ones,  nearly  all  women,  who 
ran  up  the  dyke,  in  hope  of  witnessing  the 
meeting  with  Chirsty. 


Jfowdat.  65 


"I  suppose,  lads/'  Haggart  said  to  us, 
"that  ye're  thinking  my  arrival  at  Tilly- 
loss  was  the  crowning  moment  of  my 
glory?" 

"It  was  bound  to  be." 

"So  ye  think,  Andrew;  but  that  just 
shows  how  little  ye  ken  about  the  human 
heart  I  got  as  far  as  Tillyloss  terribly 
windy  at  the  way  ye  had  honored  me ;  but, 
lads,  something  came  ower  me  at  sicht  of 
that  auld  outside  stair.  Ay,  it  had  a  michty 
hame-like  look." 

"  I've  heard  tell  ye  stopped  and  gazed  at 
it,  like  grand  folk  admiring  the  view." 

"Ay,  lathies,  I  daursay  I  did  so  ;  but  it 
wasna  the  view  I  was  thinking  about.  I'll 
warrant  ye  couldna  say  what  was  in  my 
mind  ?  " 

"  Your  funeral  ?  " 

"  I  never  gave  it  a  thocht.  Na,  but  I'll 
tell  ye  :  I  was  thinking  of  Chirsty  Todd." 

"Ay,  and  the  startle  she  was  to  get  ?  " 

' '  No,  Snecky ;  it's  an  astonishing  thing, 
but  the  moment  my  een  saw  that  outside 
stair  I  completely  lost  heart,  and  frae  being 
lifted  up  with  pride,  down  goes  my  courage 
like  -a  bucket  in  a  well.  Was  it  the  stair 
as  terrified  me  ?  Na,  it  was  Chirsty  Todd. 
Lads,  I  faced  the  whole  drove  of  ye  as  bold 
as  a  king  sitting  down  at  the  head  of  his  tea- 
table  ;  but  the  thocht  of  Chirsty  Todd  brocht 
my  legs  to  a  stop.  Ay,  for  all  we  may  say 


66 


to  the  contrairy,  is  there  a  man  in  Thrums 
as  hasna  a  kind  of  fear  of  his  wife  ?  " 

At  this  question  Haggart's  listeners  usually 
looked  different  ways. 

"Lads,"  continued  Tammas,  "it  ran 
through  me  suddenly,  like  a  cold  blast  of 
wind — 'What  if  Chirsty  shouldna  be  glad  to 
see  me  back  ? '  and  I  regretted  michty  that 
I  hadna  halved  the  guineas  with  her.  Ay, 
I  tell  ye  openly,  as  I  found  mysel'  getting 
smaller,  like  a  gas-ball  with  a  hole  in  it,  and 
I  a  kind  of  lost  sight  of  all  I  had  to  boast 
of.  I  was  ashamed  of  mysel',  and  also  in 
mortal  terror  of  Chirsty  Todd.  Ay,  but  I 
never  let  her  ken  that  :  na,  na  ;  a  man  has  to 
be  wary  about  what  he  tells  his  wife. " 

"He  has  so,  for  she's  sure  to  fling  it  at 
him  by  and  by  like  a  wet  clout.  Women 
has  terrible  memories  for  what  ye  blurt  out 
to  them." 

"  Ye're  repeating  my  words,  Rob,  as  if  they 
were  your  own ;  but  what  ye  say  is  true. 
Women  doesna  understand  about  men's 
minds  being  profounder  than  theirs,  and  con- 
sequently waur  to  manage." 

"That's  so,  and  it's  a  truth  ye  daurna 
mention  to  them.  But  ye  was  come  to  the 
outside  stair,  Tammas." 

"Ay,  I  was.  Lads,  I  climbed  that  stair  all 
of  a  tremble,  and  my  hand  was  shaking  so 
muckle  that  for  a  minute  I  couldna  turn  the 
handle  of  the  door. " 


ftiUyte*  Jfarotal  67 


"  We  saw  as  ye  a  sort  of  tottered." 

"Ay,  I  was  uneasy  ;  and  even  when  the 
door  opened  I  didna  just  venture  inside. 
Na,  I  had  a  feeling  as  it  was  a  judicious 
thing  to  keep  a  grip  of  the  door.  Weel, 
lathies,  I  stood  there  keeking  in,  and  what 
does  I  see  but  Chirsty  Todd  sitting  into  the 
fire,  with  my  auld  pipe  in  her  mouth.  Ay, 
there  she  sat  blasting." 

"  How  did  that  affect  ye,  Tammas  ?  " 

"How  did  it  affect  me?  It  angered  me 
most  michty  to  see  her  enjoying  hersel',  and 
me  thocht  to  be  no  more. 

"  '  Ye  heartless  limmer/  I  says  to  mysel', 
and  that  reminds  me  as  a  man  is  master  in 
his  own  house,  so  I  bangs  the  door  to  and 
walks  in." 

"  Wha  spoke  first  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  spoke  first.  I  spoke  just  as  her 
een  lichted  on  me." 

"  Ye  had  said  a  memorable  thing?  " 

"I  canna  say  I  did.  No,  Pete.  I  just 
gave  her  a  sly  kind  of  look,  and  I  says,  '  Ay, 
Chirsty. ' " 

"She  screamed,  they  say  ?  " 

"She  did  so,  and  the  pipe  fell  from  her 
mouth.  Ay,  it's  a  gratification  to  me  to  ken 
that  she  did  scream." 

"And  what  happened  next  ?  " 

"She  spied  at  me  suspiciously  ;  and  says 
she,  *  Tammas  Haggart,  are  you  in  the 
flesh  ? '  to  which  I  replies,  'I  am  so,  Chirsty.' 


68 


*  Then, '  cries  she,  sharply,  '  take  your  dirty 
feet  off  my  clean  floor  ! ; " 

"And  did  ye?  " 

"Ay,  I  put  them  on  the  fender;  and  she 
cries,  'Take  your  dirty  feet  off  the  fender.* 

"Lads,  I  thocht  it  was  best  to  sing  small, 
so  I  took  off  my  boots,  and  she  sat  glowering 
at  me,  but  never  speaking.  'Ay,  Chirsty/ 
I  says,  '  ye've  had  rain  I'm  thinking  ; '  and 
she  says,  '  The  rain's  neither  here  nor  there  ; 
the  question  is,  How  did  you  break  out  ? ' 
Ay,  the  crittur  thocht  I  had  broken  out  of 
my  grave." 

"We  all  thocht  that." 

"Nat'rally  ye  did.  Weel,  I  began  my 
story  at  the  beginning  but  with  the  impa- 
tience of  a  woman  she  aye  said,  '  I  dinna 
want  to  hear  that,  I  want  to  ken  how  you 
broke  out ! ' ; 

"  But  she  wanted  to  hear  about  the  siller 
in  the  buttons  ?  " 

"Ay,  but  I  tried  to  slither  ower  the  but- 
tons, fearing  she  would  be  mad  at  me  for 
spending  them.  And,  losh,  mad  she  was ! 
I  explained  to  her  as  I  put  them  to  good 
use  by  improving  my  mind,  but  she  says, 

*  Dinna  blether  about   your  mind  tome,  or 
I'll   take   the   poker   to   ye ! '     Chirsty   was 
always  fond  of  language." 

"But  what  about  the  Well-wisher?  " 
"Oh,    that    was    a   queery.      I   says   to 
Chirsty,  'I  did  not   forget  your  sufferings, 


69 


Chirsty,  for  I'm  the  Well-wisher/  At  first 
She  didna  understand,  but  then  she  minds 
and  says,  '  It  was  you  as  sent  that  bit  cheese 
with  D.  Fittis,  was  it  ? '  Lads,  then  it  came 
out  as  the  cheese  was  standing  in  the  press 
untouched.  Ay,  I  tore  it  in  twa  with  my 
hands,  and  out  rolls  the  guinea.  She  had 
never  dreamed  of  there  being  siller  in  the 
cheese." 

"Na,  she  was  terrified  to  touch  the  cheese. 
I  mind  when  I  could  have  bocht  it  frae  her 
for  twa  or  three  bawbees.  Ay,  what  chances 
a  body  misses !  But  she  had  been  pleasanter 
with  ye  after  she  got  the  guinea  ?  " 

"I  can  hardly  say  that.  She  nipped  it  up 
quick,  and  tells  me  to  go  on  with  my  story. 
Weel,  I  did  so  in  a  leisurely  way,  her  aye 
nagging  at  me  to  come  to  the  quarry,  as  I 
soon  had  to  do.  I  need  scarce  tell  yc  she 
was  michty  surprised  it  wasna  me  ye  buried, 
but,  after  that  was  cleared  up,  I  saw  her 
mind  wasna  on  what  I  was  saying  to  her. 
No,  lads,  I  was  the  length  of  Dundee  in  my 
story  when  she  jumps  up,  and  away  she 
goes  to  the  lowest  shelf  in  the  dresser.  I 
stopped  in  my  talk  and  watched  her.  She 
pulls  out  the  iron  and  lays  it  on  the  table, 
then  she  shoves  a  heater  into  the  fire,  and 
brings  an  auld  dicky  out  of  a  drawer.  Lads, 
I  had  a  presentiment  what  she  was  after." 

"  'What  are  ye  doing,  Chirsty?'  I  says 
with  misgivings. 


70 


" 


m  to  iron  a  dicky  for  ye  to  wear  to« 
morrow/  she  cries,  and  she  kicks  my  foot 
off  the  fender. 

"'I'm  no  going  to  the  kirk/  I  warns 
her. 

'  *  '  Are  ye  no  ?  '  says  she  ;  '  ye  gang  twice, 
Tammas  Haggart,  though  the  Auld  Licht 
minister  has  to  drive  ye  to  the  door  with  a 
stick." 

"Ay,  when  I  heard  she  had  joined  the 
Auld  Lichts  I  kent  I  was  4one  with  lazy 
Sabbaths.  Weel,  she  ironed  away  at  that 
dicky  with  tremendous  energy,  and  then 
all  at  once  she  lays  down  the  iron  and  she 
cries, 

"'Keep  us  all,  I  had  forgotten!'  She 
was  the  picture  of  woe. 

"  'What's  the  matter,  Chirsty?'  I  says. 

"She  stood  there  wringing  her  hands. 

"  '  Ye  canna  gang  to  the  kirk/  she  moans, 
'  for  ye  have  no  clothes.  ' 

"'No  clothes  !'  I  cries.  'I  have  my 
blacks/ 

"  '  They're  gone/  she  says. 

"  'Gone,  ye  limmer?'  I  says,  'Wha  has 
them  ?  ' 

"'Davit  Whamand/  she  says,  'has  the 
coat,  and  Render  Haggart  the  waistcoat 
and  the  hat/ 

"Ay,  lads,  I  can  tell  ye  this  composedly 
now,  but  I  was  fuming  at  the  time.  Chirsty  's 
passion  for  genteelity  was  such  that  she  had 


^caudal  71 


imitated  grand  folk's  customs  and  given 
away  the  clothes  as  had  been  worn  by  the 
corpse." 

"That  came  of  taking  a  wife  frae  Bal- 
ribbie." 

"Ay,  and  it's  not  the  only  proof  of 
Chirsty's  vanity,  for,  as  ye  all  ken,  she 
continued  to  wear  her  crape  to  the  kirk  long 
after  I  came  back." 

"Because  she  thocht  it  set  her  ?  " 

"Ou,  rather,  just  because  she  had  it. 
But  it  was  aggravating  to  me  to  have  to 
walk  with  her  to  the  kirk,  and  her  in  widow's 
crapes.  It  would  have  provoked  an  ordi- 
nary man  to  the  drink." 

"  It  would  so,  but  what  said  ye  when  ye 
heard  the  blacks  was  gone  ?  " 

"Said?  It  wasna  a  time  for  saying.  I 
shoved  my  feet  into  my  boots  and  flung  on 
my  bonnet,  and  hurries  to  the  door. 

"  '  Whaur  are  ye  going  ? '  cries  Chirsty. 

"  (  To  demand  back  my  blacks/  I  says, 
dashing  open  the  door  with  my  fist.  Ye 
may  mind  there  was  some  of  ye  keeking  in 
at  the  door  and  the  window,  trying  to 
hearken  to  the  conversation. " 

"Ay,  and  we  flew  frae  ye  as  If  ye  was 
the  Riot  Act.  But  we  was  thinking  by  that 
time  as  ye  micht  be  a  sort  of  living." 

"Maybe,  but  I  wasna  thinking  about 
you.  Na,  it  was  the  blacks  as  was  on  my 
mind,  and  away  I  goes." 


72  ^  M\$v&$  jfrmttal 


"Ye  ran/' 

"Yes,  I  ran  straight  to  the  Tenements  to 
Davit  Whamand's  house.  Lads,  I  said 
the  pot  was  very  near  the  boil  when  I 
marched  down  the  Roods,  but  my  humor 
was  getting  cold  again.  Ay,  Chirsty  Todd 
had  suddenly  lifted  the  pot  off  the  fire." 


gtmfal.  73 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IN  WHICH  A  BIRTH  IS  RECORDED. 

""DAVIT'S  collie  barked  at  me,"  Haggart 
continued,  "when  it  heard  me  lifting  the 
sneck  of  the  door,  but  I  cowed  it  with  a  stern 
look,  and  stepped  inside.  The  wife  was 
away  cracking  about  me  to  'Lizzie  Linn,  but 
there  was  Davit  himsel'  with  a  bantam  cock 
on  his  knee,  the  which  was  ailing,  and  he 
was  forcing  a  little  butter  into  its  nib.  He 
let  the  beast  fall  when  he  saw  me,  and  I  was 
angered  to  notice  as  he  had  been  occupied 
with  the  bantam  when  he  should  have  been 
discussing  me  with  consternation." 

"  It  was  the  greater  surprise  to  him  when 
in  ye  marched." 

"Ay,  but  my  desire  to  be  thocht  a  ghost 
had  gone,  and  I  says  at  once,  '  Dinna  stand 
trembling  there,  Davit  Whamand/  I  says, 
*  for  I'm  in  the  flesh,  and  so  you'll  please 
hand  ower  my  black  coat  ! '  He  hardly 
believed  I  was  human  at  first,  but  at  the 
mention  of  the  coat  he  grows  stiff  and  hard, 
and  says  he,  '  What  black  coat  ? ' 

"'  Deception    will   not    avail   ye,    Davit 


74 


Whamand, '  says  I,  '  for  Chirsty  has  con- 
fessed all.' 

"  'The  coat's  mine/  says  Davit,  glower- 
ing. 

"  '  I  want  that  coat  direct/  I  says. 

"  'Think  shame  o'  yoursel/says  he,  'and 
you  a  corpse  this  half  year/ 

"  The  crittur  tried  to  speak  like  a  minister, 
but  I  waved  away  his  argument  with  my 
hand. 

"  'Back  to  the  cemetery,  ye  shameless 
corp/  says  he,  '  and  I'll  mention  this  to  no- 
body ;  but  if  ye  dinna  gang  peaceably  we'll 
call  out  the  constables.' 

"  'Dinna  haver,  Davit  Whamand/  I  re- 
torts, '  for  ye  ken  fine  I'm  in  the  flesh,  and  if 
ye  dinna  produce  my  coat  immediately  I'll 
take  the  law  of  ye.' 

"  '  Will  ye  ? '  he  sneers  ;  '  and  what  micht 
ye  call  yoursel'  ? ' 

"  '  I'll  call  mysel'  by  my  own  name,  namely 
Tammas  Haggart/  I  thunders. 

"'Yea,  yea/  says  he;  '  I'm  thinking  a 
corp  hands  on  his  name  to  his  auldest  son, 
and  Tammas  Haggart  being  dead  without  a 
son  the  name  becomes  extinct/ 

"  Lads,  that  did  stagger  me  a  minute,  but 
then  I  minds  I'm  living,  and  I  cries,  '  Ye  sly 
crittur,  I'm  no  dead/ 

"'Are  ye  not?'  says  he;  'I  think  ye 
are/ 

"  '  Do  I  look  dead  ?  '  I  argues. 


"  '  Look  counts  for  nothing  before  a  bailie, ' 
says  he,  '  and  if  ye  annoy  me  I'll  bring-  wit- 
nesses to  prove  you're  dead.  Yes,  I'll  pro- 
duce the  widow  in  her  crapes,  and  them  as 
coffined  ye/ 

"  'Ay/  I  cries,  'but  I'll  produce  mysel'/ 

"  'The  waur  for  you/  says  he,  'for  if  ye 
try  to  overthrow  the  law  we'll  bury  ye  again, 
though  it  should  be  at  the  public  expense.' 

"Lads,  that  made  me  uneasy,  and  all  I 
could  think  to  do  was  just  to  fling  out  my 
foot  at  the  bantam. 

"  'Ye  daur  look  me  in  the  face,  Davit 
Whamand/  I  says,  '  and  pretend  as  I'm  no 
mysel'  ? ' 

"  '  I  daur  do  so/  he  says  ;  '  and  not  only 
are  ye  no  yersel',  but  I  would  never  have 
recognized  ye  for  such/ 

"  'So,  so/  I  remarks  ;  '  and  ye  refuse  to 
deliver  up  my  coat  ? ' 

' '  '  Yes, '  he  says,  '  and  what's  more,  I  never 
had  your  coat/ 

"Lads,  that  was  his  cautiousness  in  case 
twa  lines  of  defense  was  needed  before  the 
bailie  ;  but  I  said  no  more  to  him,  for  now 
the  house  began  to  fill  with  folk  wanting  to 
make  sure  of  me,  and  I  was  keen  to  con- 
vince them  I  was  in  the  flesh  before  Davit 
prejudiced  them.  Ay,  Robbie,  you  was  one 
of  them  as  convoyed  me  to  Render  Hag- 
gart's." 

"  I  was,  Tammas,  and  when  ye  shut  the 


door  on  me  a  mask  of  folk  came  round  me 
to  hear  how  ye  had  broke  out. " 

"I  daursay  that,  but  their  curiosity  didna 
interest  me  now.  Ye  mind  when  we  got  to 
Render's  house  it  was  black  and  dark,  him 
pretending  to  be  away  to  his  bed  ?  Ay,  but 
the  smell  of  roasting  potatoes  belied  that. 
As  we  ken  now,  Hender  had  been  warned 
that  I  was  at  Davit's  demanding  back  the 
coat,  and  he  suspected  I  would  come  next 
to  him  for  the  waistcoat  and  the  hat." 

"Ay,  but  he  had  to  let  ye  in." 

"  Ou,  I  would  have  broken  in  the  door 
rather  than  have  been  beat,  and  in  the  tail 
of  the  day  Hender  takes  the  snib  off  the 
door." 

"  He  pretended  he  thocht  ye  a  ghost  too, 
did  he  no  ? " 

"No,  no,  that's  a  made-up  story.  Hen- 
der and  his  wife  had  agreed  to  pretend  that, 
but  when  Hender  came  to  the  door  he  be- 
came stupid-like,  and  when  I  says  'Ay, 
Hender/  he  says  '  Ay,  Tammas/  I've 
heard  his  wife  raged  at  him  about  it  after. 

"'Nanny/  I  says  to  the  wife,  'it's  me 
back  again,  and  ye'll  oblige  by  handing 
•ower  my  waistcoat  and  my  hat/ 

"I've  forgotten  to  tell  ye  that  when  I 
walked  in,  Nanny  was  standing  on  a  stool 
with  a  poker  in  her  hand,  the  which  she  was 
using  to  shove  something  on  the  top  of  the 
press  out  of  sicht.  She  jumped  down  hur- 


$ caudal  77 


riedly,  but  looking  bold,  and  says  she,  'These 
mice  is  very  troublesome.' 

"  Weel,  I  had  a  presentiment,  and  I  says, 
'  Give  me  the  poker,  Nanny,  and  I'll  get  at 
the  mice  ! '  Says  she,  '  Na,  na  ; '  and  she  lifts 
away  the  stool. 

"All  this  time  Render  had  been  looking 
very  melancholy,  but  despite  that,  he  was 
glad  to  see  me  back,  and  he  says  in  a  senti- 
mental way,  '  You're  a  stranger,  Tammas/ 
eays  he. 

"'I  am,  Render/  says  I,  'and  I  want 
my  waistcoat,  also  my  hat.' 

"  Render  gave  a  confused  look  to  the 
wife,  and  says  she,  'The  waistcoat  has  been 
sold  for  rags,  and  I  gave  the  hat  to  tinklers/ 

"'Render  Haggart/  says  I,  'is  this 
so  ?' 

"  Render  a  sort  of  winked,  meaning  that 
we  could  talk  the  thing  ower  when  Nanny 
wasna  there,  but  I  couldna  wait. 

"  'I  think,  Nanny/  says  I,  pointedly,  'as 
I'll  take  a  look  at  these  mice  of  yours/ 

"  '  Ye'll  do  no  sic  things/  says  she. 

'"I'm  thinking/  says  I,  'as  I'll  find  a 
black  waistcoat  on  the  top  of  that  press,  and 
likewise  a  Sabbath  hat/ 

"  Render  couldna  help  giving  me  an  ad- 
miring look  for  my  quickness,  but  Nanny 
put  her  back  to  the  press,  and  says  she, 
'  Render,  am  I  to  be  insulted  before  your 
face  ? ' 


78 


il  Hender  was  perplexed,  but  he  says  to 
me,  'Ye  hear  what  Nanny  says,  Tammas?' 

"  'Ay,'  I  says,  '  I  hear  her/ 

"  '  He  hears  ye,  Nanny/  says  Hender. 

"  'But  I  want  my  lawful  possessions/  I 
cries. 

"  Hender  hesitated  again,  but  Nanny  re- 
peats, '  Hender,  am  I  to  be  insulted  before 
your  face  ? ' 

"  '  Dinna  insult  her  before  my  face/  Hen- 
der whispers  to  me. 

"  'I  offer  no  insult/  I  says,  loud  out,  'but 
I've  come  for  my  waistcoat  and  my  hat,  and 
I  dinna  budge  till  I  get  them/ 

"  '  Ye've  a  weary  time  before  ye,  then/ 
says  Nanny. 

"  'I  wonder  ye  wouldna  be  ashamed  to 
keep  a  man  frae  his  belongings/  I  said. 

"  'Tell  him  they're  yours,  Hender/  she 
cries. 

"'Ye  see,  Tammas/  says  Hender,  'she 
says  they're  mine/ 

"'Ay/  I  says,  'but  ye  canna  pretend 
they're  yours  yersel',  Hender?' 

"  'Most  certainly  ye  can,  Hender/  says 
Nanny. 

"  'Ye  see  that,  Tammas/  says  Hender, 
triumphant. 

"  '  And  how  do  ye  make  out  as  they  are 
yours  ? '  I  asks  him. 

"'Tell  him/  cries  Nanny,  'as  ye  got 
them  for  helping  in  his  burial/ 


jtarotal  79 


"  'Tammas/  says  Render,  'that's  how  I 
got  them/ 

"Maybe/  I  says,  'but  did  I  give  ye 
them  ? ' 

"  '  Say  he  was  a  corp/  Nanny  cries. 

"  '  Meaning  no  disrespect,  Tammas/  says 
Hender,  '  ye  was  a  corp/ 

"  '  How  could  I  have  been  a  corp/  I  ar- 
gues, '  when  here  I  am  speaking  to  ye  ? ' 

"  Hender  turned  to  Nanny  for  the  answer 
to  this,  but  she  showed  him  her  back,  so  he 
just  said  in  a  weak  way,  '  We'll  leave  the 
minister  to  settle  that/ 

11  'Hender,  ye  gowk/  I  says,  'ye  ken  I'm 
living  ;  and  if  I'm  living  I'm  no  dead/ 

"  Lads,  I  regretted  I  hadna  put  it  plain  like 
that  to  Davit  Whamand.  However,  Hender 
hadna  the  clear-headedness  necessary  to 
follow  out  sic  reasoning,  and  he  replies, 

"  '  No  doubt/  he  says,  '  ye  are  living  in  a 
sense,  but  no  in  another  sense/ 

"  '  I  wasna  the  corp/  I  cried. 

"'Weel,  weel,  Tammas/  says  he,  in  a 
fell  dignified  voice,  '  we  needna  quarrel  on 
a  matter  of  opinion/ 

"I  was  just  beginning  to  say  as  it  was 
more  likely  to  be  the  waistcoat  we  would 
fall  out  about,  when  in  walks  Chirsty  in  the 
most  flurried  way. 

"'Tammas  Haggart/  she  pants,  'come 
hame  this  instant;  the  minister's  waiting 
for  ye/ 


8o 


"  Which  minister  ?  "  I  asks. 

"  '  None  other/  she  says,  looking  proudly 
at  Nancy,  '  than  the  Auld  Licht  minister.' 

' '  Lads,  I  shook  in  my  boots  at  that,  and 
I  says,  '  I  winna  come  till  I've  got  my  hat 
and  my  waistcoat.' 

"'What/  screams  Chirsty,  'ye  daur  to 
keep  the  minister  waiting  ! '  and  she  shoved 
me  clean  out  of  the  house. " 

What  the  minister  said  to  Haggart  is  not 
known,  for  Tammas  never  divulged  the  con- 
versation. Those  who  remained  on  the 
watch  said  that  the -minister  looked  very 
stern  when  walking  back  to  the  manse,  and 
that  Chirsty  found  her  husband  tractable  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening.  The  most  we  ever 
got  out  of  Tammas  on  the  subject  was  that 
though  he  had  met  many  terrifying  folk  in 
his  wanderings,  they  were  a  herd  of  sheep 
compared  to  the  minister.  He  had  some- 
times to  be  enticed  out  of  the  reverie  into 
which  thought  of  the  minister  plunged  him. 

"So  it  was  next  day  ye  dandered  up  to 
the  grave  ? "  we  would  say  craftily,  though 
well  aware  that  he  did  not  leave  the  house 
till  Monday. 

"  Na,  na,  not  on  the  Sabbath  day.  When 
I  wakened  in  the  morning  I  admit  I  was 
terribly  anxious  to  see  the  grave,  as  was 
natural,  but  thocht  of  the  minister  cowed 
me.  I  would  have  ventured  as  far  as  the 
grave  if  I  had  been  able  to  persuade  mysel' 


s  i 


I  wasna  going  for  pleasure,  but  pleasure  it 
was,  lads.  Ay,  there  was  no  denying  that." 

"  Chirsty  was  at  the  kirk  ?  " 

"  She  was  so,  and  in  her  widow's  crapes. 
I  watched  her  frae  the  window.  Ay,  it's  no 
everybody  as  has  watched  his  own  widow." 

"Na,  and  it  had  been  an  impressive  spec- 
tacle. How  would  ye  say  she  looked,  Tam- 
mas  ? " 

"  She  looked  proud,  Robbie." 

11  She  would  ;  but  what  would  ye  say  she 
was  proud  of? " 

"Ah,  Robbie,  there  you  beat  me.  But  I 
can  tell  ye  what  she  was  proud  of  on  the 
Monday." 

"What?" 

"  Before  porridge-time  no  less  than  seven 
women,  namely,  three  frae  Tillyloss,  twa 
frae  the  Tenements,  and  twa  frae  the  Roods, 
chaps  at  the  door  and  invites  her  to  a  dish 
of  tea.  That's  what  she  was  proud  of,  and 
I  would  like  to  hear  of  any  other  woman  in 
this  town,  single  or  married  or  a  widow,  as 
has  had  seven  invitations  to  her  tea  in  one 
day." 

"The  thing's  unparalleled;  but  of  course  it 
was  to  hear  about  you  that  they  speired 
her?3* 

"Oh,  of  course,  and  also  to  get  out  of  her 
what  the  minister  said  to  me.  Ay,  but  can 
ony  of  ye  tell  me  what's  the  memorablist 
thing  about  these  invitations  ?  " 

6 


82 


"I  dinna  say  I  can,  but  it's  something 
about  the  grave. " 

"It's  this,  Snecky,  that  before  Chirsty  had 
made  up  her  mind  whether  to  risk  seven 
teas  in  one  day,  I  had  become  a  humorist 
for  life. " 

"Man,  man,  oh,  losh  !  " 

"Ay,  and  it's  perfectly  appalling-  to  con- 
sider as  she  was  so  excited  about  her  invita- 
tions that  when  I  came  down  frae  the  cem- 
etery she  never  looked  me  in  the  face,  and 
I  had  to  say  to  her,  'Chirsty  Todd,  do  ye  no 
see  as  something  has  come  ower  me  ? '  At 
that  she  says,  '  I  notice  you're  making  queer 
faces,  but  I  dinna  ken  what  they  mean.' 
'They  mean,  Chirsty  Todd/  says  I,  'as  I 
am  now  a  humorist,'  to  which  she  replies, 
'  Pick  up  that  dishclout. ' " 

' '  Keep  us  all !  But  oh,  man,  a  woman's 
mind  doesna  easily  rise  to  the  sublime." 

"  It  doesna,  Pete,  and  I'll  tell  ye  the  rea- 
son ;  it's  because  of  women,  that  is  to  say, 
richt-minded  women,  all  having  sic  an 
adoration  for  ministers." 

"I  dinna  contradict  ye,  Tammas,  but 
surely  that's  a  fearsome  statement.  Is  min- 
isters not  nearer  the  sublime  than  other 
folk?" 

"They  are,  they  are,  and  that's  just  it. 
Ministers,  ye  may  say,  is  always  half-road 
up  to  the  sublime.  Weel,  what's  the  result  ? 
Women  raises  their  een  to  gaze  upon  the 


gftmtoil.  83 


sublime,  when  they  catch  sichtofthe  minis- 
ter,  and  canna  look  ony  higher." 

"Sal,  Tammas,  you've  solved  it !  But  I 
warrant  ye  couldna  have  said  that  till  ye 
became  a  humorist  ?  " 

' '  No  more  than  you  could  have  said  it  yer- 
sel',  Robbie." 

"  Na,  I  dinna  pretend  I  could  have  said  it, 
and  even  though  I  was  to  gang  hame 
now  and  say  it  in  your  very  words,  it 
wouldna  have  the  same  show  as  when  you 
say  it. " 

"  It  would  not,  for  ye  would  just  blurt  it 
out,  but  them  as  watches  me  saying  a  humor- 
ous thing  notices  the  mental  struggle  before 
the  words  comes  up.  Ay,  the  mental  strug- 
gle's like  the  servant  in  grand  houses  as  puts 
his  head  in  at  the  door  and  cries,  '  Leddies 
and  gentlemen,  take  your  seats,  for  the  din- 
ner is  all  but  ready. ' ' 

Early  on  Monday  morning  Haggart,  the 
non-humorist,  woke  for  the  last  time.  The 
day  was  moderately  fine,  but  gave  no  indi- 
cation that  anything  remarkable  was  about 
to  happen.  Lookaboutyou,  it  is  true,  says 
that  he  noticed  a  queer  stillness  in  the  air, 
and  Snecky  Hobart  spoke  of  an  unusually 
restless  night.  It  is  believed  by  some  that 
the  cocks  of  Tilly  loss  did  not  crow  that  morn- 
ing. But  none  of  these  phenomena  were 
noticed  until  it  became  natural  to  search 
the  memory  for  them,  and  Haggart  himself 


84 


always  said  that  it  was  a  common  day. 
The  fact,  I  suppose,  is  that  an  uncommon 
day  was  not  needed,  for  here  was  Haggart 
and  there  was  the  cemetery.  Nature  never 
wastes  her  materials. 

Haggart  was  elated  no  doubt,  but  so  would 
any  man  have  been  in  the  circumstances. 
For  the  last  time  Haggart,  the  non-humorist, 
put  off  cleaning  his  boots  for  another  day. 
For  the  last  time  he  combed  his  hair  without 
studying  the  effect  in  the  piece  of  glass  that 
was  glued  to  the  wall.  Never  again  would 
the  Haggart  who  briskly  descended  his  out- 
side stair,  forgetting  to  shut  the  door,  enter 
that  room  in  which  Chirsty  was  already  bak- 
ing bannocks.  It  was  a  new  Haggart  who 
would  return  presently,  Haggart  of  Haggart's 
Roady,  Haggart  of  Thrums,  in  short,  Hag- 
gart the  humorist. 

The  last  person  to  speak  to  Haggart  the 
non-humorist  was  James  Spens  ;  the  last  to 
see  him  was  Sanders  Landels.  Jamie  met 
him  at  the  foot  of  Tillyloss,  and  Sanders 
passed  him  on  the  burying-ground  brae. 
Both  were  ordinary  persons,  and  they  never 
distinguished  themselves  again. 

It  was  not  his  grave  that  made  Haggart 
a  humorist,  but  the  grave-stone.  Two  years 
earlier  he  had  erected  a  tombstone  to  trie 
memory  of  his  relatives,  but  it  had  never 
struck  him  that  he  would  some  day  be  able 
to  read  his  own  fate  on  it.  The  grave  is  to 


jtamfat.  85 


the  right  of  the  entrance  to  the  cemetery, 
almost  exactly  under  the  favorite  seat  known 
as  the  Bower,  and  being-  at  the  bend  of  the 
path  it  comes  suddenly  into  view.  Haggart 
walked  eagerly  along  the  path,  an  ordinary 
man  upon  the  whole ;  then  all  at  once  .  .  . 
He  looked  ....  He  looked  again.  This 
is  what  he  read  : 


THIS  STONE  XVAS  ERECTED  BY 

THOMAS  HAGGART 
To  THE  MEMORY  OF  PETER  HAGGART, 

FATHER  OF  THE  SAID  THOMAS, 
WHO  DEPARTED  THIS  LlFE,  JAN.  7,  1825. 

ALSO  HERE    LIES  JfiAN  LlNN,    OR  HAGGART, 

MOTHER  OF  THE  SAID  THOMAS, 

DIED  1828. 

ALSO  JEAN  HAGGART, 

SISTER  OF  THE  SAID  THOMAS, 

DIED  1829. 

ALSO  ANDREW  HAGGART, 
BROTHER  OF  THE  SAID  THOMAS, 

DIED  1831. 

ALSO  THE  SAID  THOMAS  HIMSELF, 
DIED  1834. 

Haggart  sat  down  on  the  grave.  In 
Thrums  common  folk  were  doing  common 
things — weaving,  feeding  the  hens,  supping 
porridge,  carting  peats. 

Haggart  sat  on  the  grave.     In    Thrums 


86  ^  8ttltgl0ft9E 


they  were  thinking  of  their  webs,  of  their 
dinner,  of  well-scrubbed  floors,  of  their  love 
affairs. 

But  Haggart  sat  on  the  grave,  and  a  pot 
began  to  boil.  He  has  told  us  what  hap- 
pened. Down  in  his  inside  something  was 
roaring,  and  every  moment  the  noise  in- 
creased. He  breathed  with  difficulty.  He 
was  as  a  barrel  swelling  but  held  in  by  hoops 
of  iron.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  for  his  tongue 
was  hot  and  there  was  a  hissing  in  his  throat, 
and  the  iron  hoops  pressed  more  and  more 
tightly.  Suddenly  the  hissing  ceased,  and 
he  stood  as  still  as  salt.  The  roaring  far 
down  died  away.  All  at  once  he  was  tilted 
to  the  side,  the  hoops  burst,  and  he  began 
to  laugh.  The  pot  was  boiling.  Haggart 
was  a  humorist. 

As  soon  as  he  realized  what  had  happened 
Haggart  returned  to  Tillyloss.  The  first  to 
see  him  was  Tibbie  Robbie,  the  first  to  speak 
to  him  was  William  Lamb,  the  first  to  notice 
the  change  was  Snecky  Hobart. 

I  only  undertook  to  tell  how  Haggart  be- 
came a  humorist,  and  here,  therefore,  my 
story  ends.  I  have  shown  how  a  lamp  was 
lit  in  Thrums,  but  not  how  it  burned.  Per- 
haps if  I  followed  Haggart  to  his  end,  as  I 
should  like  to  do,  to  the  time  when  the 
lamp  flickered  and  a  room  in  the  Tenements 
grew  dark,  some  who  have  smiled  at  an  old 


87 


man's  tale  would  leave  a  tear  behind  them 
to  a  weaver's  memory. 

"  Na,"  Haggart  often  said,  "we  winna 
touch  the  grave-stone.  It'll  come  in  handy 
some  day." 

His  humor,  appetizing  from  the  first,  rip- 
ened with  the  years.  For  a  time  this  was 
his  comment  on  the  tombstone  : — 

"  Lads,  lads,  what  a  do  we're  preparing 
for  posterity  !  " 

Later  in  his  life  he  said  : 

' '  It's  almost  cruel  to  cheat  future  genera- 
tions in  'this  way." 

His  hair  was  white  before  he  said  : 

"  I  dinna  ken  but  what  I  should  do  the 
honest  thing,  and  have  the  date  rubbed 
out." 

And  when  there  was  a  squeal  in  his  voice, 
he  could  add  : 

"  No  that  it  much  matters." 


HOW  GAVIN   BIRSE  PUT  IT  TO 
MAG  LOWNIE. 


IN  a  wet  day  the  rain  gathers  in  blobs  on  the 
road  that  passes  our  Thrums  garden.  Then 
it  crawls  into  the  cart-tracks,  until  the  road 
is  streaked  with  water.  Last,  the  water 
gathers  in  heavy  yellow  pSols.  If  the  rain 
still  continues,  clods  of  earth  topple  from 
the  garden  dyke  into  the  ditch. 

On  such  a  day  when  even  the  dulse- 
man  had  gone  into  shelter,  and  the  women 
scudded  by  with  their  wrappers  over  their 
heads,  came  Gavin  Birse  to  our  door. 
Gavin,  who  is  the  Glen  Quharity  post,  is  still 
young,  but  has  never  been  quite  the  same 
man  since  some  amateurs  in  the  Glen  ironed 
his  back  for  rheumatism.  At  present  I  am 
lodging  in  Thrums,  with  Hen  dry  M'Qumpha, 
and  I  thought  Gavin  had  called  to  have  a 
crack  with  me.  He  sent  his  compliments 
up  to  the  attic,  however,  by  Leeby,  and 
would  I  come  and  be  a  witness  ? 

Gavin  came  up  and  explained.      He  had 


mtd  Pag  |C0wttfe.       89 


taken  off  his  scarf  and  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket,  lest  the  rain  should  take  the  color 
out  of  it. 

His  boots  cheeped,  and  his  shoulders  had 
risen  to  his  ears.  He  stood  steaming  before 
my  fire. 

"  If  it's  no  ower  muckle  to  ask  ye,"  he 
said,  "  I  would  like  ye  for  a  witness." 

"  A  witness  !  But  for  what  do  you  need 
a  witness,  Gavin  ?  " 

"  I  want  ye,"  he  said,  "  to  come  wi'  me 
to  Mag's,  and  be  a  witness." 

Gavin  and  Mag  Birse  had  been  engaged 
for  a  year  or  more.  Mag  is  the  daughter 
of  Janet  Ogilvy,  who  is  best  remembered  as 
the  body  that  took  the  hill  (that  is  wandered 
about  it)  for  twelve  hours  on  the  day  Mr. 
Dishart,  the  Auld  Licht  minister,  accepted 
a  call  to  another  church. 

"  You  don't  mean  their  to  tell  me,  Gav- 
in," I  asked,  "  that  your  marriage  is  to  take 
place  to-day  ?  " 

By  the  twist  of  his  mouth  I  saw  that  he 
was  only  deferring  a  smile. 

"  Far  frae  that,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  then,  you  have  quarreled,  and  I  am 
to  speak  up  for  you  ?  " 

"  Na,  na,"  he  said,  "  I  dinna  want  ye  to 
do  that  above  all  things.  It  would  be  a 
favor  if  ye  could  gi'e  me  a  bad  character." 

This  beat  me,  and,  I  dare  say,  my  face 
showed  it. 


90 


"  I'm  no'  juist  what  ye  would  call  anx- 
ious to  marry  Mag  noo,"  said  Gavin,  with- 
out a  tremor. 

I  told  him  to  go  on. 

"  There's  a  lassie  oot  at  Craigiebuckle," 
he  explained,  "  workin'  on  the  farm — Jeanie 
Luke  by  name.     Ye  may  ha'e  seen  her  ?  " 
1 '  What  of  her  ?  "  I  asked,  severely. 
"  Weel,"    said    Gavin,    still    unabashed, 
"  I'm  thinkin'  noo  'at  I  would  rather  ha'e 
her." 

Then  he  stated  his  case  more  fully. 
"  Ay,  I  thocht  I  liked  Mag  oncommon  till 
I  saw  Jeanie,  an'  I  like  her  fine  yet ;  but  I 
prefer  the  other  ane.  That  state  o'  matters 
canna  gang  on  forever,  so  I  came  into 
Thrums  the  day  to  settle't  one  wy  or  an- 
other." 

"  And  how,"  I  asked,  "do  you  propose 
going  about  it  ?  It  is  a  somewhat  delicate 
business." 

"  Ou,  I  see  nae  great  difficulty  in't.  I'll 
speir  at  Mag,  blunt  oot,  if  she'll  let  me  aff. 
Yes,  I'll  put  it  to  her  plain. " 

"  You're  sure  Jeanie  would  take  you  ?  " 
"Ay  ;  oh,  there's  nae  fear  o'  that." 
"  But  if  Mag  keeps  you  to  your  bargain  ?  " 
"Weel,  in  that  case  there's  nae  harm  done. " 
"You  are  in  a  great  hurry,  Gavin  ?  " 
"  Ye  may  say  that ;  but  I  want  to  be  mar- 
ried.    The  wife  I  lodge  wi'  canna  last  lang, 
an'  I  would  like  to  settle  doon  in  some  place." 


and  p#0  ^0wttU,       91 


"  So  you  are  on  your  way  to  Mag's  now  ?  " 

"Ay,  we'll  get  her  in  atween  twal' and 
ane." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  why  do  you  want  me  to  go 
with  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  ye  for  a  witness.  If  she  winna 
let  me  aff,  weel  and  guid ;  and  if  she  will, 
it's  better  to  ha'e  a  witness  in  case  she 
should  go  back  on  her  word." 

Gavin  made  his  proposal  briskly,  and  as 
coolly  as  if  he  were  only  asking  me  to  go  fish- 
ing ;  but  I  did  not  accompany  him  to  Mag's. 
He  left  the  house  to  look  for  another  wit- 
ness, and  about  an  hour  afterwards  Jess  saw 
him  pass  with  Tammas  Haggart.  Tammas 
cried  in  during  the  evening  to  tell  us  how 
the  mission  prospered. 

"  Mind  ye/'  said  Tammas,  a  drop  of  water 
hanging  to  the  point  of  his  nose,  "I  dis- 
claim all  responsibility  in  the  business.  I 
ken  Mag  weel  for  a  thrifty,  respectable  wo- 
man, as  her  mither  was  afore  her,  and  so 
I  said  to  Gavin  when  he  came  to  speir  me. " 

"Ay,  mony  a  pirn  has  Lisbeth  filled  to 
me/'  said  Hendry,  settling  down  to  a  remi- 
niscence. 

"  No  to  be  ower  hard  on  Gavin,"  continued 
Tammas,  forestalling  Hendry,  "he  took 
what  I  said  in  guid  part ;  but  aye  when  I 
stopped  speaking  to  draw  breath,  he  says, 
'The  question  is,  will  ye  come  wi'  me?1 
He  was  michty  made  up  in  's  mind/' 


92 


"Weel,  ye  wentwi'  him, "  suggested  Jess, 
who  wanted  to  bring  Tammas  to  the  point. 

"Ay, "said  the  stone-breaker,  "but  no 
in  sic  a  hurry  as  that. " 

He  worked  his  mouth  round  and  round, 
to  clear  the  course,  as  it  were,  for  a  sarcasm. 

"Fowk  often  say,"  he  continued,  '"at 
'am  quick  beyond  the  ordinar  in  seein'  the 
humorous  side  o'  things." 

Here  Tammas  paused,  and  looked  at 
us. 

"So  ye  are,  Tammas,"  said  Hendry. 
"  Losh,  ye  mind  hoo  ye  saw  the  humorous 
side  o'  me  wearin  a  pair  o'  boots  'at  wisna 
marrows  !  No,  the  ane  had  a  toe-piece  on, 
an'  the  other  hadna." 

"Ye  juist  wore  them  sometimes  when  ye 
was  delvin',"  broke  in  Jess,  "ye  have  as 
guid  a  pair  o'  boots  as  ony  in  Thrums." 

"Ay,  but  I  had  worn  them,"  said  Hendry, 
"at  odd  times  for  mairthan  a  year,  an'  I  had 
never  seen  the  humorous  side  o'  them. 
Weel,  as  fac'  as  death  (here  he  addressed 
me),  Tammas  had  just  seen  them  twa  or 
three  times  when  he  saw  the  humorous  side 
o'  them.  Syne  I  saw  their  humorous  side, 
too,  but  no  till  Tammas  pointed  it  oot." 

"That  was  naething,"  said  Tammas, 
"naething  ava  to  some  things  I've  done." 

"  But  what  aboot  Mag  ? "  said  Leeby. 

"We  wasna  that  length,  was  we?  "  said 
Tammas.  "  Na,  we  was  speakin'  aboot 


93 


the  humorous  side.  Ay,  wait  a  wee,  I  didna 
mention  the  humorous  side  for  naething." 

He  paused  to  reflect. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said  at  last,  brightening 
up,  "  I  was  sayin'  to  ye  hoo  quick  I  was  to 
see  the  humorous  side  o'  onything.  Ay,  then, 
what  made  me  say  that  was  'at  in  a  clink 
(flash)  I  saw  the  humorous  side  o'  Gavin's 
position/' 

"Man,  man,"  said  Hendry,  admiringly, 
"  and  what  is't  ?  " 

"Oh,  it's  this,  there's  something  humorous 
in  speirin'  a  woman  to  let  ye  aff  so  as  ye 
c-  n  be  married  to  another  woman." 

"  I  daursay  there  is,"  said  Hendry,  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Did  she  let  him  aff?  "  asked  Jess,  taking 
the  words  out  of  Leeby's  mouth. 

"  I'm  comin'  to  that,'  said  Tammas. 
"Gavin  proposes  to  me  after  I  had  had  my 
laugh " 

"Yes,"  cried  Hendry,  banging  the  table 
with  his  fist,  ' '  it  has  a  humorous  side.  Ye're 
richt  again,  Tammas." 

"  I  wish  ye  wadna  blatter  (beat)  the  table/' 
said  Jess,  and  then  Tammas  proceeded. 

"Gavin  wanted  me  to  tak'  paper  an'  ink 
an'  a  pen  wi'  me,  to  write  the  proceeding 
doon,  but  I  said,  'Na,  na,  I'll  tak'  paper, 
but  no  nae  ink  nor  nae  pen,  for  there'll  be 
ink  an'  a  pen  there.  That  was  what  I  said." 

"  An'  did  she  let  him  aff? "  asked  Leeby. 


94 


"  Weel,"  said  Tammas,  "aff  we  goes  to 
Mag's  hoose,  an'  sure  enough  Mag  was  in. 
She  was  alane,  too  ;  so  Gavin,  no  to  waste 
time,  juist  sat  doon  for  politeness'  sake,  an' 
syne  rises  up  again  ;  an'  says  he,  '  Marget 
Lownie,  I  ha'e  a  solemn  question  to  speir 
at  ye,  namely  this,  Will  you,  Marget  Low- 
nie, let  me,  Gavin  Birse,  aff  ? '" 

"  Mag  would  start  at  that?  " 

"Sal,  she  was  braw  an'  cool.  I  thocht 
she  maun  ha'e  got  wind  o'  his  intentions 
aforehand,  for  she  just  replies,  quiet-like, 
'  Hoo  do  ye  want  aff,  Gavin  ? ' " 

"  '  Because/  says  he,  like  a  book,  'my 
affections  has  undergone  a  change.' 

"  'Ye  mean  Jean  Luke,'  says  Mag. 

"  'That  is  wha  I  mean,'  says  Gavin,  very 
straightforrard. " 

"But  she  didna  let  him  aff  did  she  ? " 

"  Na,  she  wasna  the  kind.  Says  she,  'I 
wonder  to  hear  ye,  Gavin,  but  'am  no  goin' 
to  agree  to  naething  o'  that  sort.' 

' '  '  Think  it  ower,'  says  Gavin. 

"  'Na,  my  mind's  made  up,'  said  she. 

"'Ye  would  sune  get  anither  man/  he 
says,  earnestly. 

' '  '  Hoo  do  I  ken  that  ?  '  she  speirs,  rale 
seriously,  I  thocht,  for  men's  no  sae  easy  to 
get. 

"  'Am  sure  o't/  Gavin  says,  wi'  michty 
conviction  in  his  voice,  '  for  ye're  bonny  to 
look  at,  an'  weel-kent  for  bein'  aguidbody/ 


(Savin  |Sit$£  m&  ^ta0  3£0uwie*      95 


"  'Ay/  says  Mag-,  'I'm  glad  ye  like  me, 
Gavin,  for  ye  have  to  tak'  me. ' }1 

"  That  put  a  clincher  on  him/'  interrupted 
Hen  dry. 

"  He  was  loth  togie  in,"  replied  Tammas, 
so  he  says,  'Ye  think  'am  a  fine  character, 
Marget  Lownie,  but  ye're  very  far  mistaken. 
I  wouldna  wonder  but  what  I  was  lossin'  my 
place  some  o'  thae  days,  an'  syne  whaur 
would  ye  be  ? — Marget  Lownie/  he  goes  on, 
''am  nat'raily  lazy  and  fond  o'  the  drink. 
As  sure  as  ye  stand  there,  'am  a  reg'lar 
deevil !  ' : 

' '  That  was  strong  language, "  said  Hendry, 
"but  he  would  be  wantin'  to  fleg  (frighten) 
her  ?  " 

"Just  so,  but  he  didna  manage  't,  for  Mag- 
says,  '  We  a'  ha'e  oor  faults,  Gavin,  an* 
deevil  or  no  deevil,  ye're  the  man  for  me  !' 

"Gavin  thocht  a  bit,"  continued  Tammas, 
an'  syne  he  tries  her  on  a  new  tack.  '  Marget 
Lownie/  he  says,  '  your  father's  an  auld  man 
noo,  an'  he  has  naebody  but  yersel'  to  look 
after  him.  I'm  thinkin'  it  would  be  kind  o' 
cruel  o'  me  to  tak  ye  awa  frae  him  ? ' ' 

"  Mag  wouldna  be  ta'en  in  wi'  that ;  she 
wasna  born  on  a  Sawbath,"  said  Jess,  using 
one  of  her  favorite  sayings. 

' '  She  wasna, "  answered  Tammas.  ' '  Says 
she,  '  Hae  nae  fear  on  that  score,  Gavin; 
my  father's  fine  willin'  to  spare  me  !  ' ' 

"An' that  ended  it?" 


96       $uviw  §te  and 


"Ay,  that  ended  it." 

"Did  ye  tak  it  doon  in  writin'  ? "  asked 
Hen  dry. 

"There  was  nae  need,"  said  Tammas, 
handing  round  his  snuff-mull.  ' '  No,  I  never 
touched  paper.  When  I  saw  the  thing  was 
settled  I  left  them  to  their  coortin'.  They're 
to  tak  a  look  at  Snecky  Hobart's  auld  hoose 
the  nicht.  It's  to  let." 


DITE   DEUCHARS. 


WONDERFUL  is  the  variety  of  pleasures  in 
Thrums.  One  has  no  sooner  unyoked  from 
his  loom  than  something  exhilarating1  hap- 
pens. In  the  same  hour  I  have  known 
a  barn  go  on  fire  in  the  Marywelbrae,  a 
merriment  caravan  stick  on  the  Brig  of  the 
Kelpies,  and  a  lord  dine  in  the  Quharity 
Arms  parlor,  the  view  of  which  is  com- 
manded from  the  top  of  Hookey  Crewe's 
dyke.  To  see  everything  worth  seeing  is 
impossible,  simply  because  the  days  are  not 
thirty-six  hours  long.  Most  of  us,  however, 
see  our  fill,  Dite  Deuchars  being  the  strange 
exception. 

A  bad  boy  had  flung  a  good  boy's  bonnet 
on  to  Haggart's  roof,  and  we  had  gone 
for  it  with  a  ladder.  We  were  now  sitting 
up  there,  to  see  what  it  was  like.  Conver- 
sation had  languished,  but  Haggart  said 
"Ay,"  and  then  again  "Umpha,"  as  one 
may  shove  a  piece  of  paper  into  a  dying 
fire  to  make  a  momentary  blaze.  In  the 
yard  the  boys  were  now  mapping  out  the 


"  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  with  kail-runts.  Wo- 
men were  sitting  on  dykes,  knitting  stock- 
ings. Snecky  Hobart  was  pitting  his 
potatoes.  We  could  join  him  presently  if 
Haggart  refused  to  add  to  our  stock  of  infor- 
mation; but  the  humorist  was  sucking  in 
his  lips,  and  then  blowing  them  out — and 
we  knew  what  that  meant.  To  look  at 
his  mouth  rehearsing  was  to  be  suddenly 
hungry.  We  had  planted  ourselves  more 
firmly  on  the  roof  when — 

"  Wha's  killing  ?  "  cried  Lunan. 

The  screech > and  skirl  of  a  pig  under  the 
knife  had  suddenly  shaken  Thrums. 

"  Lookaboutyou's  killing,"  cried  Dite, 
turning  hastily  to  the  ladder. 

There  followed  a  rush  of  feet  along  the 
Tenements.  Snecky  Hobart  flung  down  his 
spade,  the  two  laddies  plucked  up  the  Slough 
of  Despond  and  were  off  before  him.  The 
women  fell  off  the  dykes  as  if  shot. 

"You're  coming,  Tammas,  surely  ?  "  said 
Dite,  already  on  the  ladder. 

' '  Not  me, "  answered  Haggart.  ' '  If  Look- 
aboutyou  likes  to  kill  without  telling  me 
aforehand,  I  dinna  gang  near  him." 

"Come  awa',  Davit,"  said  Dite  to  Lunan. 

"I  dinna  deny,"  said  Lunan,  "but  what 
my  feet's  tickly  to  start ;  but  this  I  will  say, 
that  it  was  as  little  as  Lookaboutyou  could 
have  done  to  tell  Tammas  Haggart  he  was 
killing." 


99 


"  But  Tammas  hadna  speired  ?  " 

"Speir!"  cried  Haggart.  "Let  me  tell 
you,  Dite  Deuchars,  a  humorist  doesna 
speir ;  he  just  answers.  But  awa'  wi'  you 
to  the  farm  ;  and  tell  Lookaboutyou  that  if 
he  thinks  I'm  angered  at  his  no  telling  me 
he  was  killing,  he  was  never  mair  mistaken. " 

"I  wouldna  leave  you,"  said  Dite,  "il 
you  had  been  on  your  adventures,  but  you're 
no,  and  I'm  so  unlucky,  I  hardly  ever  see 
ony  oncommon  thing." 

"On  my  adventures  I'll  be  in  a  minute, 
for  the  screaming  o'  that  swine  calls  to  my 
mind  an  extraordinar'  meeting  I  had  wi'  a 
coachfu'  o'  pirates." 

"Sal,  I  would  like  to  hear  that/'  said  Dite, 
stepping  on  to  the  roof  again. 

The  squeals  of  the  pig  broke  out  afresh. 

"That's  mair  than  I  can  stand,"  cried 
Dite,  sliding  down  the  ladder.  He  ran  a 
few  yards,  and  then  turned  back  unde- 
cidedly. 

"  Is  it  a  partickler  wonderful  adventure, 
Tammas  ? "  we  heard  him  cry,  though  we 
could  not  see  him. 

Haggart  put  his  underlip  firmly  over  the 
upper  one. 

"  You  micht  tell  me,  Tammas,"  cried  the 
voice. 

It  was  not  for  us  to  speak,  and  Haggart 
would  not. 

"I  canna  make  up  my  mind,"  Dite  con- 


ioo 


tinued,  sadly,  "whether  to  bide  wi'  you,  or 
to  gang  to  the  killing.  If  I  dinna  gang,  I'm 
sure  to  wish  I  had  ga'en  ;  and  if  I  gang,  I'll 
think  the  hale  time  about  what  I'm  missing. " 

We  heard  him  sigh,  and  then  the  clatter 
of  his  heels. 

"  He's  a  lang  time,  though,"  said  Lunan, 
"  in  turning  the  close.  We  should  see  him 
when  he  gets  that  length." 

"The  onlucky  crittur '11  be  wavering  in 
the  close,"  said  Haggart,  "no  able  to  make 
up  his  mind  whether  to  gang  on  or  turn 
back.  I  tell  you,  lads,  to  have  twa  minds 
is  as  confusing  as  twins." 

We  saw  Dite  reach  the  mouth  of  the  close, 
where  he  stopped  and  looked  longingly  at 
us.  Then  he  ran  on,  then  he  stopped  again, 
then  he  turned  back. 

"  He's  coming  back,  after  all,"  said 
Lunan. 

"Ou,  he'll  be  off  again  directly,"  Haggart 
said,  with  acumen,  as  we  discoursed  the 
next  minute.  "  Ay,  the  body's  as  ondecided 
as  a  bairn  standing  wi'  a  bawbee  in  its  hand, 
looking  in  at  the  window  o'  a  sweetie 
shop." 

We  saw  Dite  take  the  backwynd  like  one 
who  had  at  last  forgotten  our  counter-attrac- 
tions, but  just  as  he  was  finally  disappearing 
from  view  he  ran  into  a  group  of  women. 

"Tod,  he's  coming  back  again,"  said 
Lunan,  breaking  into  the  middle  of  Hag- 


tot 


gait's  story.       "No   wonder  the  '  crittur's 

onlucky  !  "  :,  ''     '•',','',  ° ,' 

Dite,  however,  only  earner  bbeli  a  little' 
way.  He  then  climbed  the  glebe  dyke,  and 
hurried  off  up  the  park. 

"  He's  fair  demented,"  said  Lunan,  ''for 
that's  as  little  the  road  to  Lookaboutyou's 
as  it's  the  road  to  the  tap  o'  this  noose." 

The  women  sauntered  nearer,  and  when 
they  were  within  earshot  Haggart  stopped 
his  narrative  to  shout — 

"Susie  Linn,  what  made  Dite  Deuchars 
take  the  glebe  park  ?  " 

"He's  awa'  to  see  Easie  Pennycuick's 
new  crutches,"  replied  Susie.  "The  pride- 
fu'  stock  has  got  a  pair  that  cost  twal  and 
saxpence  (so  she  says),  and  she's  inviting 
a'body  in  to  see  them." 

"The  wy  she's  lifted  up  about  these 
crutches,"  broke  in  Haggart's  wife,  Chirsty, 
from  her  window,  "is  hard  to  bear;  and  I 
ken  I'll  no  gang  to  look  at  them.  '  Have 
you  seen  my  new  crutches  ? '  she  says,  as 
soon  as  her  een  lichts  on  you." 

"That's  true,  Chirsty,  and  she  came  in 
the  kirk  late  wi'  them  last  Sabbath  of  set 
purpose.  Weel,  we  telt  Dite  about  them  in 
the  backwynd,  and  he's  awa'  to  see  them. 

He  said If  that's  no  him  coming 

back  !  " 

Dite  had  turned,  and  was  hastening;  down 
the  field. 


102 


^  "  He's    changed   his   mind   again,"   said 
Lunar:.:  :  "'He's  off  to  the  killing,  after  all." 
*  "  Hoy,  "Dite    Deuchars,"   shouted  Susie 
Linn. 

Dite  hesitated,  looking  first  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Lookaboutyou's,  and  then  at  us. 

"He's  coming  here,"  said  one  of  the 
women. 

"He's  halted,"  said  another. 

"  He's  awa'  to  the  killing  at  Lookabout- 
you's," cried  Susie  Linn. 

"As  sure  as  death  he's  climbing  into  the 
glebe  park  again,"  said  Ltman.  "Oh,  the 
onlucky  body  !  " 

"We  maun  turn  our  backs  to  the  dis- 
tracted crittur,"  said  Haggart,  "  or  I'll  never 
finish  my  adventure/' 

It  was  a  marvelous  adventure,  with  as 
many  morals  as  Dite  had  minds ;  and  when 
we  had  talked  it  over,  as  well  as  listened  to 
it,  we  prepared  to  descend  the  ladder. 

"  Ca'  canny,"  cried  Haggart,  "there's 
somebody  coming  up." 

Dite  Deuchars,  flushed  with  running,  ap- 
peared at  the  top  of  the  ladder. 

"  Was  it  a  big  swine  ?  "  asked  Lunan. 

"I  didna  gang  to  the  killing.  I  heard 
that  Easie  Pennycuick " 

"  Ay,  and  what  thocht  you  of  her 
crutches  ?  " 

"Truth  to  tell,  Davit,  I  didna  see  them, 
for  I  couldna  make  up  my  mind  whether  to 


gitc  gettrhattf.  103 


gangtoEasie's  or  to  Lookaboutyou's.  They 
were  both  so  enticing  that  in  the  tail  o* 
the  day  I  sat  down  on  the  glebe  dyke,  de- 
spising mysel'  michty. " 

"  And  a  despiseable  figure  you  maun  have 
been. " 

"Ay,  but  I've  come  back  to  hear  your 
adventure,  Tammas." 

"The  adventure's  finished,"  replied  Hag- 
gart,  "  and  we're  coming  down." 

Dite  tottered  off  the  ladder. 

"Dagont  !  "  he  cried. 

"Let  this  be  a  warning  to  you,"  said 
Haggart,  ' '  that  them  that's  greedy  for  a'- 
thing  gets  naething. " 

Dite,  however,  was  looking  so  mournful 
that  the  very  bucket  on  which  he  sat  down 
might  have  been  sorry  for  him. 

"  Dinna  tell  me  I'm  an  ill-gittit  man,"  he 
said,  dejectedly,  "for  I'm  no.  A'thing's  agin 
me.  I'm  keener  to  see  curious  oncommon 
things  than  ony  ane  o'  ye,  but  do  I  see  them  ? 
The  day  the  doctor's  shalt  flung  him  in  the 
school-wynd,  whaur  was  I?  Oh,  wi'  my 
usual  luck,  of  course,  I  had  gone  round  by 
the  banker's  close.  On  the  hill,  market  day, 
I  sat  in  the  quarry  for  an  hour,  and  naething 
happened.  Syne  I  taks  a  dander  through 
the  wood,  and  no  suner  am  I  out  o'  sicht 
than  a  ga'en  about  body  flings  himsel'  ower 
the  quarry.  Jeames  McQuhatty  and  Pete 
Pundas  saw  him,  though  they  hadna  been 


104 


there  a  quarter  as  lang  as  me.  Sax  months 
on  end  I'm  as  reg'lar  at  the  kirk  as  if  I  got 
my  living  out  o'  the  minister,  and  naething 
wonderful  occurs  ;  but  one  single  Sabbath 
I  taks  to  my  bed,  and  behold  !  in  the  after- 
noon the  minister  swoundsdead  awa'  in  the 
pulpit.  When  the  show  took  fire  in  the 
square,  was  I  there  ?  Na,  na,  you  may  be 
sure  I  had  been  sent  out  o'  the  wy  to  the 
fishing.  Did  I  see  Sam'l  Robb  fall  off  his 
hoose  ?  Not  me,  though  we  had  been  neigh- 
bors for  a  twalmonth.  What  was  the  name 
o'  the  only  man  in  the  east  town  end  that 
sleepit  through  the  nicht  o'  the  Weavers' 
Riot  and  never  woke  up  till  it  was  a'  ower  ? 
The  name  o'  that  man  was  Dite  Deuchars." 

"Lad,  lad,  you're  onlucky  ;  but  I  didna 
ken  you  had  brooded  on't  like  this." 

"I've  brooded  on't  till  I'm  a  gey  queer 
character.  Tammas  Haggart,  let  me  speir 
this  at  you.  Afore  you  met  the  pirate  coach, 
did  you  or  did  you  no  come  to  a  cross- 
road ?  " 

"  Man,  Dite,  I  mind  I  did  ;  but  how  did 
you  ken  ? " 

"  Ken  !  I  guessed  it.  I  tell  you,  if  I  had 
been  in  your  place,  as  sure  as  luck's  agin 
me,  I  would  ha'e  ta'en  the  other  road,  and 
never  fallen  in  wi'  the  pirates  ava..  That's 
what  it  is  to  be  an  onlucky  man.  Tammas 
Haggart " 

"Ay,  Dite?" 


gite  gcuriiw.  105 


"There's  few  things  you  dinna see  humor 
in,  but  I  think  I  ken  one  that  beats  you." 

"  Namely,  yoursel'.  Dite  ?  " 

"Namely  mysel'." 

"No,  Dite,"  Haggart  said,  thoughtfully, 
"I  admit  I  see  no  humor  in  you.  Ay, 
you're  a  melancholy  case.  You  had  better 
gang  awd/  to  your  bed/' 

"Sic  an  onlucky  man  as  me,"  replied 
Dite,  doggedly,  "  doesna  deserve  a  bed. 
I'm  ga'en  to  sit  for  an  hour  on  this  bucket 
and  sneer  at  mysel'." 


LIFE  IN  A  COUNTRY  MANSE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JANET. 

UP  here  among  the  heather  (or  nearly  so) 
we  are,  in  the  opinion  of  tourists,  a  mere 
hamlet,  though  to  ourselves  we  are  at  least 
a  village.  Englishmen  call  us  a  "  clachan  " 
— though,  truth  to  tell,  we  are  not  sure 
what  that  is.  Just  as  Gulliver,  could  not 
see  the  Lilliputians  without  stooping,  these 
tourists  may  be  looking  for  the  clachan 
when  they  are  in  the  middle  of  it,  and 
knocking  at  one  of  its  doors  to  ask  how  far 
they  have  yet  to  go  till  they  reach  it.  To 
be  honest,  we  are  only  five  nouses  in  a  row 
(including  the  smiddy),  with  a  Free  Church 
manse  and  a  few  farms  here  and  there  on 
the  hillsides. 

So  far  as  the  rest  of  the  world  is  concerned, 
we  are  blotted  out  with  the  first  fall  of  snow. 
I  suppose  tourists  scarcely  give  us  a  thought 
save  when  they  are  here.  I  have  heard 


ft  in  &  Country  |ftw*,        107 


them  admiring  our  glen  in  August,  and 
adding  : 

"But  what  a  place  it  must  be  in  winter  I" 

To  this  their  friends  reply,  shivering  : 

"A  hard  life,  indeed!" 

And  the  conversation  ends  with  the  com- 
ment : 

"  Don't  call  it  life  ;  it  is  merely  existence." 

Well,  it  would  be  dull,  no  doubt,  for 
tourists  up  here  in  January,  say,  but  I  find 
the  winter  a  pleasant  change  from  summer. 
I  am  the  minister,  and  though  my  heart 
sank  when  I  was  "called,"  I  rather  enjoy 
the  life  now.  I  am  the  man  whom  the 
tourists  pity  most. 

"The  others  drawl  through  their  lives/' 
these  tourists  say,  "to  the  manner  born; 
but  think  of  an  educated  man  who  has  seen 
life  spending  his  winters  in  such  a  place  !  " 

"  He  can  have  no  society." 

"  Let  us  hope  the  poor  fellow  is  married." 

"Oh,  he  is  sure  to  be.  But  married  or 
single,  I  am  certain  I  would  go  mad  if  I 
were  in  his  shoes." 

Their  comparison  is  thrown  away.  I  am 
strong  and  hale.  I  enjoy  the  biting  air, 
and  I  seldom  carry  an  umbrella.  I  should 
perhaps  go  mad  if  I  were  in  the  English- 
men's shoes,  glued  to  a  stool  all  day,  and 
feeling  my  road  home  through  fog  at  night. 
And  there  is  many  an  educated  man  who 
envies  me.  Did  not  three  times  as  many 


in 


probationers  apply  for  a  hearing  when  the 
church  was  vacant  as  could  possibly  be 
heard  ? 

But  how  do  I  occupy  my  time?  the 
English  gentlemen  would  say,  if  they  had 
not  forgotten  me.  What  do  the  people  do 
in  winter?  True,  I  don't  lie  long  in  the 
mornings  and  doze  on  the  sofa  in  the  after- 
noon, and  go  to  bed  at  one  o'clock.  When 
I  was  at  College,  where  I  saw  much  "life," 
I  breakfasted  frequently  at  ten  ;  but  here, 
where  time  must  (they  say)  hang  heavy  on 
my  hands,  I  am  up  at  seven.  Though  I 
am  not  a  married  man,  no  one  has  said 
openly  that  I  arn  insane.  Janet,  my  house- 
keeper and  servant,  has  my  breakfast  of 
porridge  and  tea  and  ham  ready  by  half- 
past  seven  sharp.  You  see  the  mornings 
are  keen,  and  so,  as  I  have  no  bedroom  fire 
nor  hot  water,  I  dress  much  more  quickly 
than  I  dressed  at  College.  Six  minutes  I 
give  myself,  then  Janet  and  I  have  prayers, 
and  then  follows  my  breakfast.  What  an 
appetite  I  have  !  I  am  amazed  to  recall  the 
student  days,  when  I  "could  not  look  at 
porridge,"  and  thought  a  halfpenny  roll 
sufficient  for  two  of  us. 

Dreary  pleasure,  you  say,  breakfasting 
alone  in  a  half-furnished  house,  with  the 
snow  lying  some  feet  deep  outside  and  still 
monotonously  falling.  Do  I  forget  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice  between  Monday 


it'c  in  iv  (ilountvy  |fta»#e*        109 


and  Saturday?  I  should  think  not.  Nor, 
do  I  forget  Janet's  voice.  I  have  read  some- 
where that  the  Scotch  are  a  very  taciturn 
race,  but  Janet  is  far  more  Scotch  than  the 
haggis  that  is  passed  round  at  some  London 
dinners,  and  Janet  is  not  a  silent  woman. 
The  difficulty  with  some  servants  is  to  get 
them  to  answer  your  summons,  but  my 
difficulty  with  Janet  is  to  get  her  back  to 
the  kitchen.  Her  favorite  position  is  at  the 
door,  which  she  keeps  half  open.  One  of 
her  feet  she  twists  round  it,  and  there  she 
stands,  half  out  of  the  room  and  half  in  it. 
She  has  a  good  deal  of  gossip  to  tell  me 
about  those  five  houses  that  lie  low,  two 
hundred  yards  from  the  manse,  and  it  must 
be  admitted  that  I  listen.  Why  not?  If 
one  is  interested  in  people  he  must  gossip 
about  them.  You,  in  London,  may  not 
care  in  the  least  who  your  next  door  neigh- 
bor is,  but  you  gossip  about  your  brothers 
and  sisters  and  aunts.  Well,  my  people  are 
as  familiar  to  me  as  your  brothers  are  to 
you,  and,  therefore,  I  say,  "Ah,  indeed/' 
when  told  that  the  smith  is  busy  with  the 
wheel  of  a  certain  farmer's  cart,  and  "Dear 
me,  is  that  so  ? "  when  Janet  explains  that 
William,  the  ploughman,  has  got  Meggy, 
his  wife,  to  cut  his  hair.  Meggy  has  cut 
my  own  hair.  She  puts  a  bowl  on  my  head 
and  clips  away  everything  that  it  does  not 
cover.  So  I  would  miss  Janet  if  she  were 


no 


gone,  and  her  tongue  is  as  enlivening  as  a 
strong  ticking  clock.  No  doubt  there  are 
times  when,  if  I  were  not  a  minister,  I 
might  fling  something  soft  at  her.  She 
shows  to  least  advantage  when  I  have 
visitors,  and  even  in  winter  I  have  a  man 
to  dinner  now  and  again.  Then  I  realize 
that  Janet  does  not  know  her  place.  While 
we  are  dining  she  hovers  in  the  vicinity. 
If  she  is  not  pretending  to  put  the  room  to 
rights,  she  is  in  her  fortified  position  at  the 
door  ;  and  if  she  is  not  at  the  door  she  is 
immediately  behind  it.  Her  passion  is  to 
help  in  the  conversation.  As  she  brings  in 
the  potatoes  she  answers  the  last  remark 
my  guest  addressed  to  me,  and  if  I  am  too 
quick  for  her  she  explains  away  my  answer, 
or  modifies  it,  or  signifies  her  approval  of  it. 
Then  I  try  to  be  dignified,  and  to  show 
Janet  her  place.  If  I  catch  her  eye  I  frown, 
but  such  opportunities  are  rare,  for  it  is  the 
guest  on  whom  she  concentrates  herself. 
She  even  tells  him,  in  my  presence,  little 
things  about  myself  which  I  would  prefer  to 
keep  to  myself.  The  impression  conveyed 
by  her  is  that  I  confide  everything  to  her. 
When  my  guest  remarks  that  I  am  becoming 
a  hardened  bachelor,  and  I  hint  that  it  is 
because  the  ladies  do  not  give  me  a  chance, 
Janet  breaks  in  with — 

"Oh,  'deed  it's  a  wonder  he  wasn't  mar- 
ried   long  sfnce,   but   the   one   he  wanted 


itt  tt  tetttr       w**        in 


wouldn't  have  him,  and  the  ones  that  want 
him  he  won't  take.  He's  an  ill  man  to 
please." 

"Ah,  Janet,"  the  guest  may  say  (for  he 
enjoys  her  interference  more  than  I  do), 
"you  make  him  so  comfortable  that  you 
spoil  him." 

"Maybe,"  says  Janet,  "but  it  took  me 
years  to  learn  how  to  manage  him. " 
"Does  he  need  to  be  managed  ?  " 
"  I  never  knew  a  man  that  didna." 
Then  they  get  Janet  to  tell  them  all  my 
little  "tantrums  "  (as  she  calls  them),  and  she 
holds  forth  on  my  habit  of  mislaying  my  hat 
and  then  blaming  her,  or  on  how  I  hate  rice 
pudding,  or  on  the  way  I  have  worn  the  car- 
pet by  walking  up  and  down  the  floor  when  I 
would  be  more  comfortable  in  a  chair.  Now 
and  again  I  have  wound  myself  up  to  the 
point  of  reproving  Janet  when  the  guest  had 
gone,  but  the  result  is  that  she  tells  her  select 
friends  how  "quick  in  the  temper"  I  am. 
So  Janet  must  remain  as  she  has  grown,  and 
it  is  gratifying  to  me  (though  I  don't  let  on) 
to  know  that  she  turns  up  her  nose  at  every 
other  minister  who  preaches  in  my  church. 
Janet  is  always  afraid  when  I  go  off  for  a 
holiday  that  the  congregations  in  the  big 
towns  will  "snap  me  up."  It  is  pleasant  to 
feel  that  she  has  this  opinion  of  me,  though 
I  know  that  the  large  congregations  do  not 
share  it. 


in  a 


Who  are  my  winter  visitors  ?  The  chief 
of  them  is  the  doctor.  We  have  no  doctor, 
of  course,  up  here,  and  this  one  has  to  come 
twelve  miles  to  us.  He  is  rather  melancholy 
when  we  send  for  him  ;  but  he  wastes  no 
time  in  coming,  though  he  may  not  have 
had  his  clothes  off  for  twenty-four  hours, 
and  is  well  aware  that  we  cannot  pay  big 
fees.  Several  times  he  has  had  to  remain 
with  me  all  night,  and  once  he  was  snowed 
up  here  for  a  week.  At  times,  too,  he 
drives  so  far  on  his  way  to  us  and  then  has  to 
turn  back  because  the  gig  sticks  on  the  heavy 
roads.  He  is  only  a  doctor  in  a  small  country 
town,  but  I  am  elated  when  I  see  him,  for  he 
can  tell  me  whether  the  Government  is  still 
in  power.  Then  I  have  the  school  inspector 
once  a  year.  The  school  inspector  is  al- 
ways threatening  to  change  the  date  of  in- 
spection to  summer,  but  he  takes  the  town 
from  which  the  doctor  comes  in  early  spring, 
and  finds  it  convenient  to  come  from  there 
to  here.  Early  spring  is  often  winter  with 
us,  so  that  the  school  inspector  comes  when 
there  is  usually  snow  on  the  ground  or 
threatening.  The  school  is  a  mile  away  at 
another  "clachan/'  but  the  inspector  dines 
with  me,  and  so  does  the  schoolmaster.  On 
these  occasions  the  schoolmaster  is  not  such 
good  company  as  at  other  times,  for  he  is 
anxious  about  his  passes,  and  explains  (bw. 
think)  more  than  is  necessary  that  regular 


iw  a  tottfry  patttfje,         113 


attendance  is  out  of  the  question  in  a  place 
like  this.  The  inspectors  visit  is  the  time 
of  my  great  annual  political  debate,  for  the 
doctor  calls  politics  "fudge. "  The  inspect' 
or  and  I  are  on  different  sides,  however, 
and  we  go  at  each  other  hammer  and  tongs, 
while  the  schoolmaster  signs  to  me  (with  his 
foot)  not  to  anger  the  inspector. 

Of  course,  outsiders  will  look  incredulous 
when  I  assure  them  that  a  good  deal  oi 
time  is  passed  in  preparing  my  sermons.  I 
have  only  one  Sabbath  service,  but  two  ser- 
mons, the  one  beginning  as  soon  as  the 
other  is  finished.  In  such  a  little  church, 
you  will  say,  they  must  be  easily  pleased ; 
but  they  are  not.  Some  of  them  tramp  long 
distances  to  church  in  weather  that  would 
keep  you,  reader,  in  the  house,  though  your 
church  is  round  the  corner  and  there  is  pave- 
ment all  the  way  to  it.  I  can  preach  old 
sermons  ?  Indeed  I  cannot.  Many  of  my 
hearers  adjourn  to  one  of  the  five  houses 
when  the  service  is  over,  and  there  I  am 
picked  pretty  clean.  They  would  detect  an 
old  sermon  at  once,  and  resent  it.  I  do  not 
"talk"  to  them  from  the  pulpit.  I  write 
my  sermons  in  the  manse,  and  though  I  use 
"paper,"  the  less  I  use  it  the  better  they  are 
pleased. 

The  visits  of  the  doctor  are  pleasant  to  me 
in  one  sense,  but  painful  in  others,  for  I 
need  not  say  that  when  he  is  called  I  am  re- 
8 


n 


quired  too.  To  wade  through  miles  of  snow 
is  no  great  hardship  to  those  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  it  ;  but  the  heavy  heart  comes 
when  one  of  my  people  is  seriously  ill.  Up 
here  we  have  few  slight  illnesses.  The  doc- 
ter  cannot  be  summoned  to  attend  them, 
and  we  usually  "fight  away"  until  the 
malady  has  a  heavy  hold.  Then  the  doc- 
tor comes,  and  though  we  are  so  scattered, 
his  judgment  is  soon  known  all  through  the 
glens.  When  the  tourists  come  back  in 
summer  they  will  not  see  all  the  "  natives" 
of  the  year  before. 

It  is  said  by  those  who  know  nothing  of 
our  lives  that  we  have  no  social  events 
worth  speaking  of,  and  no  amusements. 
This  is  what  ignorance  brings  outsiders  to. 
I  had  a  marriage  last  week  that  was  probably 
more  exciting  than  many  of  your  grand 
affairs  in  London.  And  as  for  amusements, 
you  should  see  us  gathered  together  in  the 
smiddy,  and  sometimes  in  the  school-house. 
But  I  must  break  off  here,  for  the  reason  that 
I  have  used  up  all  my  spare  sermon  paper — 
a  serious  matter.  I  shall  send  the  editor 
something  about  our  social  gatherings  pres- 
ently, for  he  says  he  wants  it.  Janet,  I 
may  add,  has  discovered  that  this  is  not  a 
sermon,  and  is  very  curious  about  it. 


in  %  $<wtttnj  Pang*.         115 


CHAPTER  II. 
JANET'S  CURIOSITY. 

I  HAD  no  intention  of  saying  anything 
more  about  our  "  clachan,."  but  since  I 
posted  my  two  last  letters  Janet  has  been  so 
miserable,  entirely  owing  to  her  reprehen- 
sible inquisitiveness,  that  I  have  been  quite 
uncomfortable  in  the  manse.  If  this  is 
printed,  as  a  kind  of  postscript  to  what  I 
wrote  before,  I  shall  read  it  aloud  to  Janet, 
and  so,  I  hope,  humiliate  her. 

I  hinted  that  Janet  could  not  discover  why 
I  was  writing  so-much.  At  first  she  thought 
I  was  at  sermons,  but  very  soon  she  de- 
cided against  this  theory.  Without  blushing 
— the  woman  cannot  blush — she  would  look 
over  my  shoulder  and  gaze  at  the  paper ; 
but  that  helped  her  not  a  jot,  for  Janet  cannot 
read  what  she  calls  "  wrote  hand." 

"  Ay,  Janet,"  I  would  say  to  her  when  I 
looked  behind  me  and  found  her  eyes  on 
the  paper,  "  and  how  do  you  like  it  ? " 

"  'Deed,"  she  would  reply,  "  I  dinna  like 
it  at  all,  and  I  think  you  would  be  better  em- 
ployed attending  to  your  duties." 


ifr  iw  a  (Kouwtvtj 


"  How  do  you  know  I  am  not  at  this  mo- 
ment attending  to  my  duties?" 

' '  Very  well ;  I  canna  read  your  wrote  hand, 
but  I  see  it's  not  a  sermon  you're  at." 

I  was  curious  to  know  how  Janet  had  dis- 
covered this,  and  pressed  her. 

"  You  scrawl  your  sermons,  for  one  thing," 
said  Janet,  "  and  that  is  wrote  plainer." 

"And  for  another?  " 

"  Well,  for  another,  I've  seen  you  smiling 
to  yourself  when  you  were  writing,  and 
.here's  nothing  to  smile  at  in  your  ser- 
mons." 

"  Any  more  reasons?  " 

"  Yes,  there's  this.  When  I  came  in  yes- 
terday and  told  you  your  supper  was  ready 
you  wrote  on  for  half  an  hour,  so  that  I  had 
to  put  your  porridge  in  the  oven  to  warm. 
You're  very  willing  to  come  to  your  supper 
when  it's  just  a  sermon  you're  at." 

This,  of  course,  is  utterly  untrue,  and  I 
told  Janet  to  leave  the  room,  which  she  did, 
banging  the  door. 

Janet  thought  it  out  doubtless  in  the 
kitchen,  and  her  next  idea  was  that  I  was  to 
be  called  to  Aberdeen.  I  had  been  in  Aber- 
deen just  before  the  winter  came  on,  and  she 
decided  that  I  was  writing  out  my  testimo-. 
nials.  It  is  not,  however,  Janet's  way  to  ques- 
tion me  boldly  on  any  matter  that  she  thinks 
I  want  to  keep  secret.  If  she  had  asked  me 
whether  I  was  expecting  to  be  called  away  I 


ift  in  a  (Kotwiry  IJtw*.         117 


would  have  told  her  the  truth,  but  what  she 
did  was  this.  She  "  stepped  down"  to  the 
smiddy,  and  informed  the  smith's  wife  that  I 
had  received  a  call  from  Aberdeen.  Janet 
thinks  she  has  an  official  connection  with  the 
Free  Church  because  she  is  my  housekeeper, 
and  she  likes  to  be  first  in  the  field  with  church 
news.  It  is  wormwood  to  her  to  discover 
that  the  elders  have  been  told  anything  by 
me  which  I  have  not  first  told  her,  and  so 
she  is  constantly  forming  absurd  conclu- 
sions, and  announcing  them  as  facts.  Of 
course,  the  smith's  wife  told  her  neighbors 
that  I  had  a  call  to  Aberdeen,  and  soon 
the  glen  was  discussing  nothing  else.  The 
session  came  to  the  manse  to  hear  all  about 
it,  and  I  had  to  tell  them  that  the  story  was 
only  another  of  Janet's  foolish  notions.  I 
was  very  angry  with  Janet,  but  she  was  not 
in  the  least  ashamed  of  herself.  If  I  had  not 
got  a  call,  who  was  I  writing  these  letters  to  ? 
she  asked  herself.  Her  next  decision  was 
that  I  was  to  be  married.  This  enraged  her. 
The  fact  that  I  posted  the  letters  myself 
struck  her  as  proof  positive.  Of  course, 
I  only  posted  them  because  I  knew  that  if  I 
gave  them  to  her  she  would  get  some  one  to 
read  the  address. 

This  time  Janet  kept  her  suspicions  to  her- 
self, leading  me,  however,  to  understand 
that  I  was  behaving  very  foolishly. 

''You'll  have  been  hearing,"  she  would 


n 


say,    "that  the  schoolmaster  and   his  wife 
are  getting  on  very  ill  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  understand  that  they 
are  very  happy." 

' '  Some  folk  have  queer  ideas  of  happiness, 
but  I  would  not  be  happy  if  I  was  a  school- 
master, and  my  wife  flung  the  tongs  at  me. " 

"Tuts,  tuts,  Janet,  that  never  happened 
at  the  schoolhouse." 

"  Did  it  not  ?  "  said  Janet.  "  You  can  see 
the  mark  of  the  tongs  on  his  brow/' 

Then  Janet  would  look  sideways  at  me, 
and  say  artfully  : 

She's  an  Aberdeen  woman. " 
So  I  believe. " 

'Ay,  the  Aberdeen  lassies  is  sly." 
'What  makes  you  think  that?  " 
It's  well  known.      I've  often  heard  them 
that  kens  say  that  you  can  just  be  sure  of 
one  thing  about  Aberdeen  lassies." 

"And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"That  they're  the  very  opposite  of  what 
they  pretend  to  be. " 

With  this  shot  Janet  would  retire,  but  soon 
she  would  return  to  the  subject 

"I  hear  the  Aberdeen  lassies  try  terrible 
hard  to  snap  up  the  students. " 

"Do  they?" 

"They  do-,  and  they  have  ruined  many  a 
promising  man — especially  ministers." 

"But  many  a  minister  is  married  without 
being  ruined." 


in  a  Country  PWUM,         119 


"Not  to  an  Aberdeen  lassie.  These  lim- 
mers  are  no'  brought  up  to  mak'  house- 
keepers, but  just  to  show  off.  They  can 
play  on  the  piano,  and  that's  about  all 
they're  fit  for.  They  would  disgrace  a 
manse,  leastwise  a  country  manse." 

"  They  would  have  had  no  chance  with 
you,  Janet,  if  you  had  been  a  man." 

"  They  wouldna  ;  but  some  folk  are  no* 
difficult  to  get  round,  and  ministers  are 
easily  wheedled." 

"  You  don't  think  me  easily  wheedled,  do 
you  ? " 

"  'Deed  there's  no  saying." 

"  But  if  I  had  been  so  weak  I  would  have 
fallen  a  victim  to  their  wiles  long  ago. " 

"I  dinna  ken  about  that.  It's  said  there's 
no  fule  like  an  old  fule." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  call  me  old  ?  " 

"Oh,  you're  no'  that  young  now." 

"What  makes  you  talk  so  much  about 
marriage  nowadays,  Janet  ?  " 

"  I  have  een,  and  can  use  them.  When  I 
see  you  writing  letters  by  the  hour  I  ken 
what  it  means." 

"But  if  I'm  writing  to  a  lady,  why  does 
she  not  write  to  me  ?  " 

"That's  what  puzzles  me,  but  no  doubt 
she's  sly.  She  kens  what  she's  about.  I 
daresay  she  has  another  lad  she  would 
rather  have,  and  she's  just  keeping  you 
dangling  on,  in  case  he  refuses  her." 


120  ft  in  a 


"  Refuses  her,  Janet  ?  The  woman,  as  you 
surely  know,  does  not  propose  to  the  man." 

"I'm  thinking-  she  does  a  hantle  times 
oftener  than  the  men  have  any  idea  of.  Ye 
may  laugh,  but  I  ken  women — especially 
these  Aberdeen  hussies." 

"Why,  you  never  were  within  seventy 
miles  of  Aberdeen  in  your  life. " 

"Maybe  no,  but  I  ken  what  fules  these 
women  mak'  of  ministers.  Yes,  and  I  ken 
how  the  ministers  repents  when  it's  too  late. 
You  admire  these  dressed-up  dolls'  grand 
clothes,  but  I'm  thinking  you  sing  a  different 
tune  when  you  have  to  pay  for  them.  The 
piano's  a  pretty  instrument,  but  you  think 
less  of  it  when  you're  hungry  and  the  broth 
pot's  full  of  soot." 

"But,  Janet,  the  Aberdeen  lassie  would 
keep  a  servant  to  look  after  the  broth  pot. " 

"And  a  pretty-like  servant,  I'm  thinking. 
These  limmers  of  stuck-up  wives  dinna  like 
to  have  a  respectable  middle-aged  woman 
in  the  kitchen  like " 

"Like  yourself? " 

"Yes,  like  myself.  Oh,  no;  they  bring 
some  useless  fule  of  a  lassie  with  them  that 
they  think  genteel-looking.  Yes,  she  can 
wear  a  neat  cap  (and  set  it  at  every  single 
man  in  the  kirk) ;  but  as  for  work,  she  kens 
nothing  about  it.  All  she's  fit  for  is  for 
combing  her  mistress's  false  hair  and  burn- 
ing the  potatoes." 


in  a  totttry  'jftrnw.         121 


"Hoots,  Janet,  you  were  young  once 
yourself. " 

"Oh,  you're  an  infatuated  man,  and  will 
not  listen  to  reason.  But  let  me  tell  you 
this,  that  folk  haver  when  they  say  a  minis- 
ter is  better  looked  after  when  he's  married. 
That's  a  story  invented  by  young  women. 
When  you  have  ministers  preaching  here, 
do  you  think  I  need  to  speir  whether  they're 
married  or  single  ?  No,  I  ken  from  one  look 
at  them.  If  they're  sensible  single  men  with 
a  decent  body  to  look  after  them,  their  boots 
is  in  good  order  and  their  coats  well  brushed. 
But  I  detect  the  married  man  at  once  by  his 
want  of  buttons  and  his  boots  worn  down 
at  the  heel,  and  the  seams  of  his  sleeves 
open.  Yes,  and  I  ken  him  by  his  want  of 
spirit.  However,  as  I  say,  a  willful  man 
maun  have  his  say,  and  I  will  not  argue 
with  you." 

Then  one  day  Janet  found  out  that  my 
letters  have  been  addressed  to  a  newspaper 
office,  and  immediately  she  had  a  new  idea. 
I  was  advertising  for  another  housekeeper. 
This  was  too  terrible,  and  she  could  beat 
about  the  bush  no  longer.  She  walked  into 
the  manse  parlor,  and  said  : 

"  I  dinna  ken  what  I've  done  to  make  you 
treat  me  so  secret-like,  but  I  want  to  hear 
the  worst." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Janet?"  I 
asked,  innocently. 


122 


"Are  you  to  be  married?''  demanded 
Janet. 

"Certainly  not,"  I  answered.  "No  one 
will  have  me." 

'  Then  it's  a  new  servant  ?  " 
'  What  is  a  new  servant  ?  " 
'That  you're  advertising  for." 
1  Did  I  say  I  was  advertising  ?  " 
'  Tell  me  the  worst,  I  can  bear  it. " 
'Janet,"  I  said,  severely,  "  your  curiosity 
will  bring  you  to  an  early  grave  if  you  don't 
restrain  it.      It  is  no   affair  of  yours  what  I 
have  been  writing,  and  therefore  I  shall  not 
answer  your  questions.     You  have  brought 
all  your  misery  on  yourself." 

So  Janet  is  still  wondering  what  the  writ- 
ing is  about,  but  I  won't  tell  her  till  th6  paper 
arrives.  Then  I  shall  read  this  aloud  to 
her,  and  add  certain  moral  reflections  which 
will  cow  her  for  a  day  or  two,  though  they 
would  not  interest  the  public. 


ift  in  &  Country  Hftw**         123 


CHAPTER  III. 

TEACHER  M 'QUEEN. 

As  I  tried  to  show  some  time  ago,  my  old 
manse  housekeeper,  Janet,  takes  a  personal 
interest  in  my  affairs.  In  certain  matters 
she  has  me  under  complete  subjection  ;  for 
instance,  I  dare  not  smoke  (except  in  com- 
pany) in  my  black  coat,  and  it  is  the  worse 
for  me  if  I  forget  to  change  my  socks  on  the 
days  which  she  has,  as  it  were,  set  apart  for 
that  purpose.  So  far  she  has  allowed  me 
to  compose  my  own  sermons,  but  I  have 
visions  of  a  time  when  she  will  insist  on 
telling  me  what  to  say  in  the  pulpit,  as  well 
as  how  to  say  it.  Nay,  more,  Teacher 
M'Queen  declared  at  the  smiddy  the  other 
night  that  when  I  grew  old  and  weak  in 
intellect  (Janet,  who  dislikes  him,  says  that 
he  said  "weaker  in  intellect")  my  house- 
keeper would  propose  to  me,  and  we  would 
be  "kirked"  before  I  had  courage  to  enter 
a  protest.  This  prediction  I  openly  flout, 
while  admitting  Janet's  power  in  the  manse. 
This  chapter  in  our  "clachan"  life,  indeed, 
is  written  at  her  instigation.  At  first  when 


124 


she  discovered  that  I  had  become  an  authot 
she  was  contemptuous,  and  her  sneers 
on  the  subject  made  me  uncomfortable. 
About  a  month  ago,  however,  Janet  began 
to  look  upon  authorship  in  a  new  light. 
There  are  several  persons  in  the  glen  whom 
she  never  passes,  even  on  the  Sabbath, 
without  flinging  her  head  so  far  back  that 
she  can  see  what  is  taking  place  behind  her. 
One  of  these  is  Teacher  M'Queen,  and  it 
has  struck  Janet  that  I  might  make  the 
old  dominie  more  humble  if  I  "showed  him 
up  in  the  newspapers." 

"  Of  which  he  has  great  need,"  Janet  fre- 
quently reminds  me. 

' '  I  can  show  him  his  errors  from  the 
pulpit,"  I  tell  her. 

' '  You  can, "  says  Janet,  ' '  and  when  you're 
done  he  wakes  up. '' 

Teacher  M'Queen  does  not  sleep  in  church, 
but  Janet  scorns  him,  and  therefore  insists 
that  he  does.  Janet  watches  the  congrega- 
tion so  sharply  that  she  has  no  time  to  pay 
much  attention  to  the  sermon.  When  this 
is  pointed  out  to  her  she  says  : 

"I  have  the  minister  six  days  a  week, 
and  so  I  can  surely  take  my  een  off  him  on 
the  Sabbath." 

However,  I  must  leave  Janet  (whom  I 
seem  to  have  on  the  brain)  and  come  to 
Teacher  M'Queen.  Nevertheless,  I  would 
have  it  first  understood  that  I  mean  to 


in  K  <£0wwy  Pause.         125 


sketch  the  dominie  as  I  know  him,  not  as 
he  is  conceived  by  Janet. 

M'Queen  has  never  been  a  schoolmaster 
here  in  my  time.  It  will  be  six  years  in 
June  since  I  came  to  the  glen,  and  he  had 
retired  on  a  pension  two  years  before  that. 
He  was  a  teacher  in  the  glen  (as  he  tells  me 
every  time  we  quarrel  about  whitewashing 
the  session-house)  "  long  before  I  was  born," 
and  he  is  still  so  hale  that  he  might  venture 
to  add  that  he  will  still  be  a  resident  here 
long  after  I  am  dead.  They  say  that  he 
and  the  inspector  once  nearly  came  to  blows 
about  a  vulgar  fraction,  but  as  a  rule,  I 
fancy,  he -was  sly  rather  than  combative  on 
the  days  of  the  examination,  and  there  are 
queer  stories  (told  by  former  pupils)  of  what 
he  did  behind  the  inspector's  back.  The 
grand  ambition  of  the  inspector  was  to  get 
him  to  retire,  which  he  did,  after  thinking 
the  matter  over  six  years.  His  great  sub- 
ject of  conversation  at  the  social  board  had 
always  been  the  glories  of  life  in  Aberdeen, 
for  he  despised  what  he  called  the  "  stagna- 
tion "  of  the  glen,  and  would  frequently  say 
to  our  farmers,  or  to  the  smith  : 

"The  like  of  you  can  have  no  notion  of 
the  sublime  thoughts  that  fill  the  brain  of  an 
educated  mar.,  Therefore,  what  do  you 
mean  by  presuming  to  argue  with  me?  " 

Of  course,  when  he  decided  to  retire  on  a 
pension,  the  universal  opinion  was  that  he 


would  spend  his  last  days  in  his  beloved 
Aberdeen.  I  believe  the  glen  folk  were 
grieved  to  think  that  he  would  be  known 
to  them  no  more ;  for  though  he  was  and 
is  a  cantankerous  man,  it  is  impossible  to 
live  for  years  in  intimacy  with  any  one 
without  discovering  some  good  in  him.  The 
dominie  had  been  an  indefatigable  teacher, 
and  had  done  numerous  kind-hearted  things, 
though  not,  it  must  be  admitted,  in  a  gra- 
cious manner.  A  number  of  his  old  pupils 
rallied  round  him  when  he  retired,  and  there 
was  a  social  gathering  given  in  his  honor  at 
the  new  school-house.  An  English  village 
school  could  not,  I  think,  make  such  a  dis- 
play, for  even  up  in  our  little  glen  boys  are 
ambitious  of  learning,  and  there  were  three 
ministers  and  an  advocate  (all  former  pupils) 
at  the  gathering.  Several  other  pupils,  who 
had  risen  to  what  in  the  glen  is  called  fame, 
were  unable  to  be  present,  but  they  sent 
their  good  wishes  and  a  subscription  to  the 
present.  The  present  to  the  dominie  con- 
sisted of  "  a  purse  and  sovereigns,"  but  I 
never  heard  how  many  sovereigns  were  in 
the  purse.  Perhaps  this  is  one  of  the  things 
best  kept  dark. 

Then  when  the  presentation  was  over, 
and  the  speeches  and  the  tea  run  down, 
nearly  the  whole  glen  shook  hands  with 
Teacher  M'Queen,  and  wished  him  happy 
days  in  Aberdeen. 


itt  fl  €0Utttnj   PW*.  127 


"Thank  you  kindly,"  he  replied  a  score 
of  times,  "  but  I  may  see  you  again  before 
I  go,  as  I've  taken  lodgings  with  the  smith 
for  a  week.  You  see,  I  have  some  things 
to  do  before  I  can  start." 

So  the  dominie  spoke  ;  but  the  week  went 
by,  and  another  week,  and  then  another, 
and  he  was  still  at  the  smith's.  When  ques- 
tioned as  to  when  he  meant  to  leave,  he 
continued  to  say  : 

"  Oh,  in  a  few  days.  You  see  I  have 
some  things  to  do  before  I  can  start." 

One  of  the  things  the  dominie  had  to  do 
was  to  give  up  his  eldership,  and  this  took 
a  long  time.  I  had  the  story  from  my  pre- 
decessor. 

"  M'Queen  used  to  come  up  to  the  manse, " 
Mr.  Marr  told  me,  "and  explain  that  as 
he  was  going  to  Aberdeen,  he  would  have 
to  give  up  his  eldership.  Then  he  would 
sigh,  and  say,  '  You'll  get  the  session-house 
whitewashed  when  I'm  away  ; '  and  I  would 
reply,  '  Well,  it  needs  to  be  whitewashed, 
and  I  could  never  understand  why  you  were 
so  much  opposed  to  whitewashing  it. '  '  Ah, ' 
he  would  answer,  '  you  see  James  White 
and  I  never  got  on  well,  and  James  was  for 
the  whitewashing,  and  so  I  was  bound  to  go 
against  it.  I'll  hardly  sleep  at  nights  at 
Aberdeen,  for  I'll  always  be  thinking  James 
has  got  his  way/  Then  when  he  rose  to  go 
(I  always  let  him  out  myself,  because  Janet 


128         pft  iii-H  $0uutnj 


and  he  used  to  put  up  their  backs  at  each 
other)  I  would  say,  '  So  I  am  to  understand 
that  you  have  resigned  your  eldership  ? '  and 
he  would  answer,  '  Well,  it  must  come  to 
that,  but  I  think  I'll  put  off  resigning  for 
another  week,,  as  I'm  not  just  leaving  yet, 
there  being  some  things  I  must  do  before  I 
can  start. ' '' 

At  the  smiddy  the  dominie  spoke  for  a 
time  of  the  glories  of  Aberdeen.  He  had 
been  born  there,  and  educated  at  the  Uni- 
versity, and  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eye 
when  he  talked  of  the  old  college,  and  of  the 
smell  of  the  sea.  But  when  he  was  asked 
whether  he  had  many  friends  in  Aberdeen 
now,  he  became  silent,  and  went  out  alone. 
His  feet  took  him  in  the  direction  of  his  old 
school,  a  miserable  little  building  that  was 
falling  to  pieces  even  before  the  new  school 
was  built.  Even  to  this  day  it  is  toward 
the  old  school  that  Teacher  M'Queen 
wanders,  and  I  have  heard  it  said  that  some- 
times as  he  strides  along  the  path,  he  for- 
gets that  the  school  is  no  longer  in  use,  and 
that  his  own  working  days  are  done.  He 
has  been  seen  stopping  short  at  the  doorway 
of  the  old  school  (the  door  is  gone),  and 
looking  around  him  as  if  for  his  ragged 
scholars,  or  listening  for  the  sound  of  them 
at  play.  Then  he  looks  straight  before  him 
for  a  time,  and  speaks  to  himself,  after  which 
he  returns  to  the  smith's  and  says  that  he 


n  H        ttttvj      a»#*.         129 


has  decided  to  set  off  for  Aberdeen  on  Satur- 
day. But  Saturday  passes,  and  still  there 
is  something  to  be  done  before  Teacher 
M 'Queen  can  start. 

I  think  the  dominie  had  been  fully  six 
months  in  his  quarters  with  the  smith  before 
he  ceased  to  talk  of  going  to  Aberdeen  next 
week.  Then  he  admitted  that  the  winter 
was  too  far  advanced. 

"The  east  winds  are  trying  in  Aberdeen," 
he  allowed,  "  and  it  would  scarcely  be  safe 
to  make  the  change  from  here  to  there  in 
midwinter.  But  I'll  go  in  spring." 

Spring  came,  and  the  dominie  was  still  in 
no  hurry  to  go. 

'Til  wait  till  summer,  when  the  days  are 
long/'  he  said. 

Then  winter  came  again. 

I  suppose  he  did  mean  to  go  to  Aberdeen 
at  some  time.  There  is  something  rather 
pathetic  in  this.  All  his  life  he  had  looked 
forward  to  returning  to  Aberdeen,  and  pass- 
ing his  last  years  in  it.  When  he  was  a 
youth  he  had  no  thought,  we  may  be  sure, 
of  being  a  dominie  in  an  insignificant  glen 
during  all  the  working  years  of  his  life.  He 
came  to  the  glen  strong  in  the  belief  that 
very  soon  he  would  get  a  better  place,  per- 
haps in  the  famous  grammar  school  of  Aber- 
deen itself.  Everything  he  saw  here  he 
compared  scornfully  to  what  he  had  seen  in 
Aberdeen.  He  would  not  allow  that  the  sun 


130 


shone  here  as  it  did  there ;  and  the  Aberdeen 
people  excelled  all  others.  His  relatives 
lived  in  Aberdeen,  but  they  died  before  the 
dominie  had  a  chance  of  returning  perma- 
nently to  it.  He  had  a  love-story,  too,  as  I 
suppose  all  men  have,  and  the  scene  of  it 
was  Aberdeen.  I  don't  know  why  it  came  to 
nothing,  for  on  that  subject  the  dominie, 
even  in  his  loquacious  hours,  shuts  his  mouth. 

He  discovered,  but  tried  to  put  the  dis- 
covery from  him  as  something  distasteful, 
that  Aberdeen  no  longer  contained  a  friend 
of  his.  He  might  have  left  the  glen  for  it, 
but  though  many  persons  in  the  glen  would 
have  seen  him  on  the  coach,  there  was  no 
one  to  meet  him  at  Aberdeen  station.  All 
his  life  he  had  thought  of  Aberdeen  as  his 
real  home,  yet  during  this  time  he  was  mak- 
ing a  new  home  in  the  glen.  It  would  have 
been  death  for  him  to  leave  us.  In  the  glen 
he  is  somebody,  but  Aberdeen  buried  him 
decades  ago. 

So  the  dominie  remains  with  us,  and  here 
he  will  end  his  days.  In  the  glen  he  is  still 
Teacher  M'Queen,  while  the  present  school- 
master is  only  Mr.  Rowand.  Mr.  Marrwent 
the  way  of  all  the  earth  some  years  ago, 
but  still  Teacher  M'Queen  is  an  elder  in  the 
church,  still  Janet  and  he  shake  their  heads 
at  each  other,  and  he  is  still  violent  in  his 
opposition  to  the  whitewashing  of  the  ses- 
sion-house. 


fo  in  a  (Sountvij  PHU^,         131 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  POST. 

WHEN  a  carriage  is  going  one  way  along 
our  glen  road,  and  the  post's  bicycle  is 
coming  the  other  way,  there  is  an  anxious 
moment  for  the  persons  in  the  carriage. 
They  will  squeeze  their  vehicle,  if  they  are 
wise,  into  a  recess,  but  even  then  the  bicycle 
may  charge  into  it,  for  the  post's  "  machine  " 
is  more  like  a  restive  horse  than  a  thing  of 
wheels,  and,  except  when  there  is  a  brae  to 
climb,  it  is  constantly  running  away  with 
him.  It  used  to  back  in  the  middle  of 
braes  and  whirl  him  down  the  way  he  had 
come,  much  like  a  canoe  trying  to  ascend  a 
rush  of  water  and  giving  up  the  contest 
when  near  the  top.  Now,  however,  the 
post  is  more  cautious.  When  he  comes  to 
a  brae  he  jumps  (and  falls)  from  his  veloci- 
pede, as  he  calls  it,  and  drags  it  up  the  hill. 
When  he  is  tired  of  dragging,  he  pushes. 
It  has  been  noticed  of  our  glen  that  it  is  all 
climbing.  The  road  the  post  has  to  go  is 
more  like  a  switchback  railway  than  any- 
thing else,  so  that  he  is  oftener  off  his 


132         fpf*  itt  a 


velocipede  than  on  it  To  the  calm  out- 
sider the  machine  doubles  his  daily  work,  yet 
it  is  the  one  thing  in  this  world  he  is  proud  of. 

He  is  a  lanky  man,  with  hair  that  the  wind 
blows  across  his  eyes,  and  his  age  is  uncer- 
tain. He  thinks  he  must  be  sixty,  but  some 
in  the  glen  say  he  is  seventy.  Every  day  he 
has  some  eighteen  miles  to  walk  (or  "cycle") 
but  we  do  not  consider  this  astounding,  there 
being  several  men  of  threescore-and-ten  in 
the  glen  who  can  still  walk  their  thirty  miles 
on  occasion.  One  of  them,  indeed,  can  even 
fish  after  it.  However,  John  had  set  his 
heart  on  a  velocipede,  and  two  years  ago  a 
subscription  was  started  to  enable  him  to 
buy  a  second-hand  one.  Nearly  twelve 
shillings  were  gathered  in  a  single  evening 
at  the  schoolhouse  for  this  purpose,  the 
teacher  having  got  up  a  concert  (at  which  I 
read  Mr.  Stanley's  account  of  how  he  found 
Livingstone — though  the  hit  of  the  evening 
was  made  by  our  comic  singer).  After  the 
money  had  been  presented  to  the  post,  he 
changed  his  mind  about  the  bicycle  and 
bought  a  fiddle,  to  the  great  indignation  of 
the  subscribers.  He  showed  considerable 
canniness  when  taken  to  task. 

"How  have  I  cheated  you?"  he  asked 
the  smith's  wife. 

"We  gave  money  to  let  you  buy  a  veloci- 
pede, and  you've  bought  a  fiddle.  That's 
how  you've  cheated  us." 


fe  in  a  GTounttg  ^tow,         133 


"No,  Mary,  you  misjudge  me.  In  the 
testimonial  I  got  with  the  siller,  it  said  that 
the  money  was  raised  in  recognition  of  my 
long  and  valuable  services." 

"Yes,  and  to  let  you  buy  a  velocipede." 

"There's  not  a  word  about  a  velocipede." 

"Maybe  it's  called  a  bi — bicycle,  but 
that's  the  same  thing. v 

"  It's  hardly  the  same  thing,  but  I  assure 
you  bicycles  are  no  mentioned  any  more 
than  velocipedes." 

"  Havers  !  did  I  no  hear  the  testimonial 
read  out  ?  " 

"  You  did  ;  and  I  can  repeat  it  to  you  by 
heart,  for  often  I  say  it  to  myself  when  stand- 
ing beneath  a  tree  till  the  rain  stops.  The 
words  you're  thinking  of  are  as  follows  : — 
'  This  gift  is  raised  to  enable  him  to  buy  some- 
thing that  will  make  his  journeys  easier.' ' 

"And  surely  that  means  a  velocipede?" 

"I  don't  see  but  what  it  might  mean  a 
fiddle.  The  roads  don't  seem  so  long  if  you 
have  music  to  brighten  them." 

"Well  aware  you  are  that  these  words 
were  just  put  in  because  the  dominie's  heart 
failed  him  at  the  word,  'velocipede/  he  no 
being  sure  how  many  s's  were  in  it." 

"  If  that's  so,"  said  John,  cunningly,  "the 
blame  for  buying  the  fiddle  should  be 
charged  to  the  dominie." 

It  was  apparently  only  to  "stop  talk" 
that  the  post  by  and  by  began  to  construct 


134        Ififr  in  a  (toutttj 


a  velocipede  out  of  his  own  head.  At  first 
he  took  little  interest  in  the  enterprise,  per- 
haps because  he  was  hopeless,  but  soon  he 
became  so  enamored  of  it  that  he  grudged 
the  time  spent  in  delivering  letters.  My 
housekeeper  wanted  me  to  have  him  dis- 
missed promptly  (Janet  thinks  the  Govern- 
ment would  not  dare  to  disobey  the  orders 
of  a  Free  Church  minister),  because  one  day 
he  said  to  her  : 

"Hie,  Janet ;  there's  twa  or  three  letters 
for  the  minister  in  my  bag.  You'll  better  cry 
in  at  the  smith's  for  them.  They're  on  the 
mantel-piece." 

"  Bring  them  yourself,"  said  Janet,  indig- 
nantly. 

'Til  try  to  run  up  with  them,"  said  the 
audacious  post,  "before  supper-time,  but  I'm 
terribly  busy  making  my  velocipede." 

"Are  you  paid  by  the  Government  for 
making  velocipedes,"  demanded  Janet,  "or 
for  delivering  letters  ?  " 

"I  disdain  to  argue  with  a  woman," 
replied  John.  "Stand  out  of  the  light, 
woman." 

"Woman  indeed  1 "  said  Janet,  holding 
her  head  high. 

John  and  the  smith  are  only  on  speaking 
terms  now  when  the  velocipede  is  broken, 
which  is  once  a  week  or  so.  Then  they 
mend  it  between  them.  Their  quarrel  arose 
in  this  way.  John  began  to  make  his  vehi- 


f*  itt  ,"•  totttvy  PHW,         135 


cle  in  his  own  kitchen,  from  which  he  was 
driven  by  his  wife  to  a  shed  that  is  cold  in 
winter,  because  it  wants  half  of  the  roof. 
Having  made  a  machine  here  that  looked 
complete  when  leaning  against  the  side  of 
the  shed,  but  came  to  pieces  if  you  tried  to 
sit  on  it,  John  had  to  call  in  the  smith,  and 
for  a  month,  the  two  men  were  engaged  in 
the  evenings  in  giving  it  finishing  touches. 
They  were  great  friends  during  this  period, 
and,  indeed,  up  to  the  memorable  day  when 
the  post's  steed  was  first  seen  by  the  glen  at 
large.  It  was  so  much  admired  that  John 
felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  himself  and  the  Post- 
master-General to  claim  full  credit  for  the 
construction.  From  the  same  day  the  smith 
took  to  maintaining  that  he  had  made  the 
velocipede. 

"The  smith  lent  me  some  nails  and  a 
hammer,"  John  said,  "but  I  made  the 
thing." 

"  Him  make  a  bicycle  !  "  said  the  smith, 
scornfully.  "I  let  him  hold  the  nails  till  I 
needed  them,  but  I  did  all  the  work." 

"A  laddie  could  have  done  all  the  smith 
did,"  John  explained. 

"That's  true,"  retorted  the  smith,  "if  a 
laddie  could  have  made  the  bicycle." 

So  fierce  did  the  controversy  run  that  the 
smith  turned  his  back  when  John  came  clat- 
tering along  on  his  wooden  horse.  Never- 
theless both  love  that  bicycle,  and  when 


anything  is  wrong  with  it  they  rush  for  ham- 
mers and  twine.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
twine  about  the  machine,  and  when  it  cuts, 
the  wheels  go  different  ways. 

To  describe  the  post's  velocipede  is  alto- 
gether beyond  my  pen.  To  me  it  looks 
like  a  little  cart-wheel  in  chase  of  a  big  one, 
with  an  excited  rider  trying  to  keep  them 
apart. 

"  The  post's  coming  !  "  some  one  says  at 
the  "clachan,"  and  then  mothers  dart  into 
the  road  for  their  children  to  save  them  from 
death,  while  terrified  hens  run  this  way  and 
that.  Then  with  a  clatter  John  bears  down 
upon  us,  shouting  : 

''Clear  the  road  there!" 

"Stop  him,"  some  one  cries  to  John. 

"I  canna,"  says  John  ;  "he's  away  with 
me  again.  Grip  him  at  the  back." 

Some  bold  spirit  seizes  the  little  wheel, 
and  is  dragged  along  by  the  infuriated  bicy- 
cle until  John  is  able  to  descend. 

"Bring  me  a  drink  of  water,"  he  pants. 

But  it  is  not  always  thus  that  the  post 
arrives.  Sometimes  he  is  hours  late,  and 
we  say  : 

"I  can't  make  out  why  John  is  so  late." 

" He'll  have  broken  down,"  is  suggested 
next. 

By  and  by  John  walks  into  the  hamlet, 
pushing  his  bicycle  before  him,  or  laden 
with  various  parts  of  it. 


in  a  Cuuntnj  Pause,         137 


"  We've  had  an  accident/'  he  explains,  as 
if  an  explanation  were  necessary. 

Sometimes  the  post  comes  to  grief  as  well 
as  his  machine,  and  we  have  to  sally  forth 
to  look  for  him.  Once  something  still  more 
remarkable  happened.  The  bicycle  arrived 
alone.  We  hurried  up  the  brae,  at  the  foot 
of  which  the  hamlet  lies,  and  near  the  top 
we  found  John  prone  in  the  middle  of  a  wet 
road. 

"  Don't  bother  about  me,"  he  cried,  "but 
help  me  to  find  the  velocipede.  It's  bolted." 

I  should  say  that  it  would  be  easier  to  walk 
forty  miles  on  our  roads  than  to  ride  five  on 
that  demon  machine,  but  the  post  by  no 
means  agrees  with  me. 

"That  velocipede's  like  a  watch,"  he  says, 
fondly.  ' '  So  long  as  I  never  had  one  I  didn't 
miss  it,  but  now  I  couldn't  do  without  it." 


If  if*  iw  a 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  WEDDING  IN  THE  SMIDDY. 

I  PROMISED  to  take  the  world  at  large  into 
my  confidence  on  the  subject  of  our  wedding 
at  the  smiddy.  You  in  London,  no  doubt, 
dress  more  gorgeously  for  marriages  than  we 
do — though  we  can  present  a  fine  show  of 
color — and  you  do  not  make  your  own  wed- 
ding cake,  as  Lizzie  did.  But  what  is  your 
excitement  to  ours?  I  suppose  you  have 
many  scores  of  marriages  for  our  one,  but 
you  only  know  of  those  from  the  newspapers. 
"At  so-and-so,  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Such-a- 
one,  John  to  Elizabeth,  eldest  daughter  of 
Thomas."  That  is  all  you  know  of  the 
couple  who  were  married  round  the  corner, 
and  therefore,  I  say,  a  hundred  such  wed- 
dings are  less  eventful  in  your  community 
than  one  wedding  in  ours. 

Lizzie  is  off  to  Southampton  with  her  hus- 
band. As  the  carriage  drove  off  behind  two 
horses  that  could  with  difficulty  pull  it 
through  the  snow,  Janet  suddenly  appeared 
at  my  elbow  and  remarked  : 


in  a  (Dmitry  Ittanietf*         139 


"Well,  well,  she  has  him  now,  and  may 
she  have  her  joy  of  him." 

"  Ah,  Janet/'  I  said,  "  you  see  you  were 
wrong.  You  said  he  would  never  come  for 
her." 

"No,  no,"  answered  Janet.  "  I  just  said 
Lizzie  made  too  sure  about  him,  seeing  as  he 
was  at  the  other  side  of  the  world.  These 
sailors  are  scarce  to  be  trusted. " 

"But  you  see  this  one  has  turned  up  a 
trump. " 

' '  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Anybody  that's 
single  can  marry  a  woman,  but  it's  no  so 
easy  to  keep  her  comfortable." 

I  suppose  Janet  is  really  glad  that  the  sailor 
did  turn  up  and  claim  Lizzie,  but  she  is  an- 
noyed in  a  way  too.  The  fact  is  that  Janet 
was  skeptical  about  the  sailor.  I  never  saw 
Janet  reading  anything  but  the  Free  Church 
Monthly,  yet  she  must  have  obtained  her 
wide  knowledge  of  sailors  from  books.  She 
considers  them  very  bad  characters,  but  is 
too  shrewd  to  give  her  reasons. 

"We  all  ken  what  sailors  are,"  is  her  dark 
way  of  denouncing  those  who  go  down  to  the 
sea  in  ships,  and  then  she  shakes  her  head 
and  purses  up  her  mouth  as  if  she  could  tell 
things  about  sailors  that  would  make  our 
hair  rise. 

I  think  it  was  in  Glasgow  that  Lizzie  met 
the  sailor — three  years  ago.  She  had  gone 
there  to  be  a  servant,  but  the  size  of  the 


140 


place  (according  to  her  father)  frightened 
her,  and  in  a  few  months  she  was  back  at 
the  clachan.  We  were  all  quite  excited  to 
see  her  again  in  the  church,  and  the  general 
impression  was  that  Glasgow  had  ' '  made 
her  a  deal  more  lady-like."  In  Janet's  opin- 
ion she  was  just  a  little  too  lady-like  to  be 
Natural. 

In  a  week's  time  there  was  a  wild  rumor 
through  the  glen  that  Lizzie  was  to  be 
married. 

"  Not  she/'  said  Janet  uneasily. 

Soon,  however,  Janet  had  to  admit  that 
there  was  truth  in  the  story,  for,  ' '  the  way 
Lizzie  wandered  up  the  road  looking  for  the 
post  showed  she  had  a  man  on  her  mind." 

Lizzie,  I  think,  wanted  to  keep  her  wonder- 
ful secret  to  herself,  but  that  could  not  be 
done. 

"I  canna  sleep  at  nights  for  wondering 
who  Lizzie  is  to  get,"  Janet  admitted  to  me. 
So  in  order  to  preserve  her  health  Janet 
studied  the  affair,  reflected  on  the  kind  of 
people  Lizzie  was  likely  to  meet  in  Glasgow, 
asked  Lizzie  to  the  manse  to  tea  (with  no 
result),  and  then  asked  Lizzie's  mother  (vic- 
tory). Lizzie  was  to  be  married  to  a  sailor. 

" I'm  cheated, "  said  Janet,  "if  she  ever 
sets  eyes  on  him  again.  Oh,  we  all  ken 
what  sailors  are.'' 

You  must  not  think  Janet  too  spiteful. 
Marriages  were  always  too  much  for  her, 


iu  u  (llouwtnj  ^iun^,         141 


but  after  the  wedding  is  over  she  becomes 
good-natured  again.  She  is  a  strange  mix- 
ture, and,  I  rather  think,  very  romantic, 
despite  her  cynical  talk. 

Well,  I  confess  now  that  for  a  time  I  was 
somewhat  afraid  of  Lizzie's  sailor  myself. 
His  letters  became  few  in  number,  and  often 
I  saw  Lizzie  with  red  eyes  after  the  post  had 
passed.  She  had  too  much  work  to  do  to 
allow  her  to  mope,  but  she  became  unhappy 
and  showed  a  want  of  spirit  that  alarmed  her 
father,  who  liked  to  shout  at  his  relatives 
and  have  them  shout  back  at  him. 

"I  wish  she  had  never  set  eyes  on  that 
sailor,"  he  said  to  me  one  day  when  Lizzie 
was  troubling  him. 

"She  could  have  had  William  Simpson," 
her  mother  said  to  Janet. 

"I  question  that, "said  Janet,  in  repeating 
the  remark  to  me. 

But  though  all  the  clachan  shook  its  head 
at  the  sailor,  and  repeated  Janet's  aphorism 
about  sailors  as  a  class,  Lizzie  refused  to 
believe  her  lover  untrue. 

"The  only  way  to  get  her  to  flare  up  at 
me,"  her  father  said,  "is  to  say  a  word 
against  her  lad.  She  will  not  stand  that." 

And,  after  all,  we  were  wrong  and  Lizzie 
was  right.  In  the  beginning  of  the  winter 
Janet  walked  into  my  study  and  parlor  (she 
never  knocks),  and  said  : 

<<  He's  come  1" 


142 


"Who?"  I  asked. 

* '  The  sailor.  Lizzie's  sailor.  It's  a  per- 
fect disgrace." 

"  Hoots,  Janet,  it's  the  very  reverse.  I'm 
delighted  ;  and  so,  I  suppose,  are  you  in 
your  heart." 

"I'm  not  grudging  her  the  man  if  she 
wants  him,"  said  Janet,  flinging  up  her  head, 
"but  the  disgrace  is  in  the  public  way  he 
marched  past  me  with  his  arm  around  her. 
It  affronted  me." 

Janet  gave  me  details.  She  had  been  to 
a  farm  for  the  milk  and  passed  Lizzie,  who 
had  wandered  out  to  meet  the  post  as  usual. 

"I've  no  letter  for  ye,  Lizzie,"  the  post 
said,  and  Lizzie  sighed. 

"No,  my  lass,"  the  post  continued,  "but 
I've  something  better." 

Lizzie  was  wondering  what  it  could  be, 
when  a  man  jumped  out  from  behind  a 
hedge,  at  the  sight  of  whom  Lizzie  screamed 
with  joy.  It  was  her  sailor. 

"I  would  never  have  let  on  I  was  so 
fond  of  him,"  said  Janet. 

"But  did  he  not  seem  fond  of  her?"  I 
asked. 

"That  was  the  disgrace,"  said  Janet. 
"  He  marched  off  to  her  father's  house  with 
his  arm  round  her  ;  yes,  passed  me  and  a 
wheen  other  folk,  and  looked  as  if  he  neither 
kent  nor  cared  how  public  he  was  making 
himself.  She  did  not  care  either." 


in  a  $0w»tnj  PW*.         143 


I  addressed  some  remarks  to  Janet  on  the 
subject  of  meddling  with  other  people's 
affairs,  pointing  out  that  she  was  now  half 
an  hour  late  with  my  tea  ;  but  I,  too,  was 
interested  to  see  the  sailor.  I  shall  never 
forget  what  a  change  had  come  over  Lizzie 
when  I  saw  her  next.  The  life  was  back  in 
her  face,  she  bustled  about  the  house  as 
busy  as  a  bee,  and  her  walk  was  springy. 

"This  is  him,"  she  said  to  me,  and  then 
the  sailor  came  forward  and  grinned.  He 
was  usually  grinning  when  I  saw  him,  but 
he  had  an  honest,  open  face,  if  a  very 
youthful  one. 

The  sailor  staid  on  at  the  clachan  till  the 
marriage,  and  continued  to  scandalize  Janet 
by  strutting  "  past  the  very  manse  gate  " 
with  his  arm  round  the  happy  Lizzie. 

"He  has  no  notion  of  the  solemnity  of 
marriage,"  Janet  informed  me,  "or  he  would 
look  less  jolly.  I  would  not  like  a  man  that 
joked  about  his  marriage." 

The  sailor  undoubtedly  did  joke.  He 
seemed  to  look  on  the  coming  event  as  the 
most  comical  affair  in  the  world's  history, 
and  Avhen  he  spoke  of  it  he  slapped  his  knees 
and  roared.  But  there  was  daily  fresh  evi- 
dence that  he  was  devoted  to  Lizzie. 

The  wedding  took  place  in  the  smiddy, 
because  it  is  a  big  place,  and  all  the  glen  was 
invited.  "Lizzie  would  have  had  the  com- 
pany comparatively  select,  but  the  sailor 


144 


asked  every  one  to  come  whom  he  fell  in 
with,  and  he  had  few  refusals.  He  was 
wonderfully  "flush  "of  money,  too,  and 
had  not  Lizzie  taken  control  of  it,  would 
have  given  it  all  away  before  the  marriage 
took  place. 

"  It's  a  mercy  Lizzie  kens  the  worth  of  a 
bawbee,"  her  mother  said,  "for  he  would 
scatter  his  siller  among  the  very  bairns  as  if 
it  was  corn  and  he  was  feeding  hens. " 

All  the  chairs  in  the  five  houses  were  not 
sufficient  to  seat  the  guests,  but  the  smith  is 
a  handy  man,  and  he  made  forms  by  crossing 
planks  on  tubs.  The  smiddy  was  an  amazing 
sight,  lit  up  with  two  big  lamps  ;  and  the 
bride,  let  me  inform  those  who  tend  to  scoff, 
was  dressed  in  white.  As  for  the  sailor,  we 
have  perhaps  never  had  so  showily  dressed 
a  gentleman  in  our  parts.  For  this  occasion 
he  discarded  his  seafaring  "  rig-out"  (as  he 
called  it),  and  appeared  resplendent  in  a 
black  frock  coat  (tight  at  the  neck),  a  light 
blue  waistcoat  (richly  ornamented),  and 
gray  trousers  with  a  green  stripe.  His 
boots  were  new  and  so  genteel  that  as  the 
evening  wore  on  he  had  to  kick  them  off  and 
dance  in  his  stocking  soles. 

Janet  tells  me  that  Lizzie  had  gone  through 
the  ceremony  in  private  with  her  sailor  a 
number  of  times,  so  that  he  might  make  no 
mistake.  The  smith,  asked  to  take  my  place 
at  these  rehearsals,  declined  on  the  ground 


in  H  tetttnj  Pan0*.         145 


that  he  forgot  how  the  knot  was  tied ;  but 
his  wife  had  a  better  memory,  and  I  under- 
stand that  she  even  mimicked  me — for 
which  I  must  take  her  to  task  one  of  these 
days. 

'  However,  despite  all  these  precautions, 
the  sailor  was  a  little  demonstrative  during 
the  ceremony,  and  slipped  his  arm  round 
the  bride  "to  steady  her."  Janet  wonders 
that  Lizzie  did  not  fling  his  arms  from  her, 
but  'Lizzie  was  too  nervous  now  to  know 
what  her  swain  was  about. 

Then  came  the  supper  and  the  songs  and 
the  speeches.  The  tourists  who  picture  us 
shivering,  silent,  and  depressed  all  through 
the  winter  should  have  been  in  the  smiddy 
that  night. 

I  proposed  the  health  of  the  young  couple, 
and  when  I  called  Lizzie  by  her  new  name, 
"Mrs.  Fairweather,"  the  sailor  flung  back 
his  head  and  roared  with  glee  till  he  choked, 
and  Lizzie's  first  duty  as  a  wife  was  to  hit 
him  hard  between  the  shoulder  blades. 
When  he  was  sufficiently  composed  to  reply, 
he  rose  to  his  feet  and  grinned  round  the 
room. 

"  Mrs.  Fairweather,"  he  cried  in  an  ec- 
stasy of  delight,  and  again  choked. 

The  smith  induced  him  to  make  anothei 
attempt,  and  this  time  he  got  as  far  as 
"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  me  and  my  wife — " 
when  the  speech  ended  prematurely  in  re- 

10 


146         'gift  in  H 


sounding  chuckles.  The  last  we  saw  of 
him,  when  the  carriage  drove  away,  he  was 
still  grinning ;  but  that,  as  he  explained, 
was  because  "he  had  got  Lizzie  at  last." 

"You'll  be  a  good  husband  to  her,  I  hope," 
I  said. 

"Will  I  not  !  "  he  cried,  and  his  arm  went 
round  his  wife  again. 


in  a  Cflttttfrg  |ttw£*         147 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  MINISTER'S  GOWN. 

ON  the  morning  after  a  probationer  has 
been  chosen  minister  of  a  church,  his  land- 
lady intimates  through  the  key-hole  of  his 
bedroom  that  a  gentleman  has  called  * '  about 
the  gown."  The  gentleman  is  from  a  firm 
that  supplies  gowns,  and  he  has  arrived 
early  to  forestall  the  representative  of  an- 
other firm.  About  the  same  time,  two  ladies 
(in  black  jackets)  begin  to  collect  from  the 
other  ladies  of  the  congregation  the  money 
which  is  to  pay  for  the  gown,  and  by  and 
by  it  is  presented  to  the  chosen  of  the  people 
at  a  soiree.  Such  is  the  natural  history  of 
the  minister's  gown. 

But  congregations  there  be  ("by  steamer 
to  Inverary,  thence  hire ")  that  love  not 

fowns,  and  it  was  one  of  these  that  "  called" 
indlater,  M.A.,  a  short  year  ago.  Never 
until  this  had  there  been  a  gown  in  their  pul- 
pit, nor  did  the  Session  think  that  innovations 
should  come  with  Findlater.  The  ladies  of 
the  congregation,  however  (of  whom  one 
had  a  sealskin  coat,  and  therefore  was  not 


fc  in  iv  Country 


to  be  slighted),  " gathered"  a  gown,  and 
Findlater  swore  to  wear  it :  and  worn  it  he 
has  every  Sunday  since,  except  when  it  is 
not  there  to  wear.  For  the  whereabouts  of 
that  gown  is  only  known  at  irregular  intervals 
to  many  persons  at  a  time.  Now  it  is  in  the 
lawful  owner's  possession,  and  again  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy — that  is,  of  the  Session 
— who  scruple  not  to  make  off  with  it  of  a 
Saturday  night  and  restore  it  to  the  vestry 
on  Monday  morning. 

Lest  it  be  concluded  that  the  gown  has 
bred  ill-feeling  between  the  pastor  and  his 
people,  let  me  say  at  once  that  this  is  not  so. 
It  has  been  admitted  by  all  (though  neither 
in  writing  nor  in  spoken  words)  that,  gown 
or  no  gown,  Findlater  is  the  man  for  them. 
True,  a  maiden  who  subscribed  has  been 
asked  to  return  a  ring  by  a  gentleman  who, 
though  not  a  deacon,  has  already  the  walk 
of  one  ;  but  this  she  refused  to  do  on  the 
ground  that  men  are  hard  to  get  ;  and  thus 
a  tragedy  is  averted.  Again,  though  the 
opposition  is,  undeniably,  led  by  the  pillars 
of  the  Kirk,  the  gown  was  presented  by  her 
of  the  sealskin,  who  was  educated  at  an 
Edinburgh  boarding-school  where  only  Free 
Church  plants  are  received;  and  thus  must, 
her  actions  be  right  and  proper.  It  is,  then, 
with  a  chastened  exultation  that  the  Session 
see  the  minister  fail  to  find  his  gown  ;  while 
on  those  occasions  when  he  unexpectedly 


149 


appears  in  it  (they  thinking  it  to  be  at  that 
moment  hidden  in  the  smiddy),  they  good- 
naturedly  overlook  the  triumph  with  which 
he  gives  out  his  first  psalm. 

How  often  the  gown  has  disappeared  and 
been  returned  or  captured  I  cannot  tell. 
Only  occasionally  am  I  in  the  place  for  a 
week-end,  and  then  can  no  one  assure  me 
for  certain  whether  or  no  we  are  to  have  a 
gown  Sunday.  At  first  the  gown  was  kept 
in  the  vestry,  where  it  hung  on  a  nail  so 
temptingly  that  a  garden-rake  entered  by  the 
window  and  abducted  it.  That  was  on  a 
•Saturday  evening,  and  service  on  the  follow- 
ing day  began  some  twenty  minutes  late. 
The  gown  was  on  its  nail  by  Monday  at  10 
A.  M.  ,  and  locked  away  in  the  vestry-press 
at  ii  A.  M.  ;  and  for  some  weeks  the  min- 
ister triumphed.  Then  again  had  he  to 
preach  without  his  gown  in  the  forenoon. 
Between  services  it  was  discovered  lurking 
behind  a  tombstone.  Some  say  that  he  had 
left  the  key  in  the  press ;  others  that, 
whether  locked  or  not,  the  press  opens  if 
shaken  by  those  who  have  the  knack  of  it. 
But  those  supposed  to  have  the  knack  of  it 
say  nothing,  and  equally  reticent  is  Find- 
later,  save  in  the  presence  of  Kirsteen,  his 
housekeeper,  who  can  goad  any  man  to 
language. 

Latterly  Findlater  has  kept  the  gown  in 
the  manse,  from  which  he  now  walks  to 


15° 


church  in  it.  Even  from  the  manse  has  it 
been  removed  by  daring  hands,  despite  (as 
the  minister  once  thought)  Kirsteen's  un- 
wearying guard  over  it,  but  (as  he  now 
holds)  with  the  connivance  of  that  double 
woman.  There  was  a  time  when  Kirsteen 
was  allowed  to  take  the  gown  to  the  kitchen, 
there  to  renew  the  seams  at  the  armpit,  which 
give  way  when  Findlater  is  pronouncing  the 
benediction  ;  but  then  had  the  gown  a  habit 
of  running  off  through  the  shrubbery  the 
moment  her  back  was  turned.  Hence  the 
new  regulation  that,  when  the  gown  requires 
mending,  it  is  mended  in  the  minister's 
presence. 

The  lady  in  the  sealskin  (which  the  envi- 
ous call  plush,  though  they  sit  immediately 
behind  her,  and  have  felt  it  with  their  fingers, 
when  pretending  to  be  merely  laying  their 
Bible  on  the  "board")  considers  Findlater's 
silence  in  the  face  of  such  persecution  sin- 
gularly beautiful  ;  and  so  it  is,  unless  Kir- 
steen's stories  be  true  of  the  way  he  opens 
out  on  the  subject  to  her.  Only  once  in 
public  has  the  gown  led  to  his  forgetting  him* 
self  :  and  then  the  circumstances  were  try- 
ing. The  manse  garden  and  the  church 
were  only  the  breadth  of  a  burn  and  a  high- 
road apart,  and  the  minister  has  to  jump  the 
burn.  I  have  seen  him  do  so  often,  and 
always  first  with  a  look  round  to  apologize 
for  the  undignified  nature  of  the  act.  Such,  I 


fe  in  #  Country  Ittanse.         151 


am  sure,  is  his  meaning  ;  but  there  are  those 
who  maintain  that  he  only  looks  about  him 
to  make  sure  that  no  one  is  in  the  vicinity 
with  designs  on  the  gown.  On  the  occa- 
sion in  question,  just  as  he  was  on  the  point 
of  jumping,  it  seemed  to  him  that  an  im- 
pious hand  had  tried  to  pluck  the  gown  off 
him.  His  assailant  was  in  reality  but  the 
branch  of  a  tree  dipping  suddenly  in  the 
wind  till  it  touched  his  shoulder  ;.  but  before 
Findlater  realized  this  he  clutched  his  gown 
with  both  hands  and — said  something. 

I  called  at  the  manse  to-day  and  found 
Findlater  in  his  study,  busy  at  his  sermon. 
He  was  sitting  on  the  gown. 


THE 

CAPTAIN  OF  THE  SCHOOL 


WHEN  Peterkin,  who  is  twelve,  wrote  to 
us  that  there  was  a  possibility  ("  but  don't 
count  on  it,"  he  said)  of  his  bringing  the 
captain  of  the  school  home  with  him  for  a 
holiday,  we  had  little  conception  what  it 
meant.  The  captain  \ve  only  knew  by  re- 
port as  the  "  man  "  \vho  lifted  leg-balls  over 
the  pavilion  and  was  said  to  have  made  a 
joke  to  the  head-master's  wife.  By  and  by 
we  understood  the  distinction  that  was  to 
be  conferred  on  us.  Peterkin  instructed  his 
mother  to  send  the  captain  a  formal  invita- 
tion addressed  "J.  Rawlins,  Esq."  This  was 
done,  but  in  such  a  way  that  Peterkin  feared 
we  might  lose  our  distinguished  visitor. 
"  You  shouldn't  have  asked  him  for  all  the 
holidays,"  Peterkin  wrote,  "  as  he  has  prom- 
ised a  heap  of  fellows. "  Then  came  a  con- 
descending note  from  the  captain,  saying 
that  if  he  could  manage  it  he  would  give  us 
a  few  days.  In  this  letter  he  referred  to 


Captain  0f  tto  $rti001L        153 


Peterkin  as  his  young  friend.  Peterkin  wrote 
shortly  afterwards  asking  his  sister  Grizel  to 
send  him  her  photograph.  "  If  you  haven't 
one,"  he  added,  "  what  is  the  color  of  your 
eyes  ?  "  Grizel  is  eighteen,  which  is  also,  1 
believe,  the  age  of  J.  Rawlins.  We  con- 
cluded that  the  captain  had  been  sounding 
Peterkin  about  the  attractions  that  our  home 
could  offer  him  ;  but  Grizel  neither  sent  her 
brother  a  photograph  nor  any  account  of  her 
personal  appearance.  "It  doesn't  matter," 
Peterkin  wrote  back  ;  "  I  told  him  you  were 
dark. "  Grizel  is  rather  fair,  but  Peterkin  had 
not  noticed  that. 

Up  to  the  very  last  he  was  in  an  agony 
lest  the  captain  should  disappoint  him. 
"  Don't  tell  anybody  he  is  coming,"  he  ad- 
vised us,  "for  of  course  there  is  no  saying 
what  may  turn  up."  Nevertheless  the  cap- 
tain came,  and  we  sent  the  dog-cart  to  the 
station  to  meet  him  and  Peterkin.  On  all 
previous  occasions  one  of  us  had  gone  to 
the  station  with  the  cart ;  but  Peterkin  wrote 
asking  us  not  to  do  so  this  time.  "Rawlins 
hates  any  fuss,"  he  said. 

Somewhat  to  our  relief,  we  found  the 
captain  more  modest  than  it  would  have 
been  reasonable  to  expect.  "This  is  Raw- 
lins," was  Peterkin's  simple  introduction  ; 
but  it  could  not  have  been  done  with  more 
pride  had  the  guest  been  Mr.  W.  G.  Grace 
himself.  One  thing  I  liked  in  Rawlins  from 


154        $to  $aptaw  of 


the  first :  his  consideration  for  others.  When 
Peterkin's  mother  and  sister  embraced  that 
boy  on  the  doorstep,  Rawlins  pretended  not 
to  see.  Peterkin  frowned,  however,  at  this 
show  of  affection,  and  with  a  red  face  looked 
at  the  captain  to  see  how  he  took  it.  With 
much  good  taste,  Peterkin  said  nothing  about 
this  "fuss  "  on  the  door-step,  and  I  concluded 
that  he  would  let  it  slide.  It  has  so  far  been 
a  characteristic  of  that  boy  that  he  can  let 
anything  which  is  disagreeable  escape  his 
memory.  This  time,  however,  as  I  sub- 
sequently learned,  he  had  only  bottled  up 
his  wrath  to  pour  it  out  upon  his  sister. 
Finding  her  alone  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
he  opened  his  mind  by  remarking  that  this 
was  a  nice  sort  of  thing  she  had  done,  mak- 
ing a  fool  of  him  before  another  fellow. 
Asked  boldly — for  Grizel  can  be  freezing  on 
occasion  not  only  to  her  own  brother,  but  to 
other  people's  brothers — what  he  meant, 
Peterkin  inquired  hotly  if  she  was  going  to 
pretend  that  she  had  not  kissed  him  in  Raw- 
lins' presence.  Grizel  replied  that  if  Rawlins 
thought  anything  of  that  he  was  a  nasty 
boy  ;  at  which  Peterkin  echoed  "boy"  with 
a  grim  laugh,  and  said  he  only  hoped  she 
would  see  the  captain  some  day  when  the 
ground  suited  his  style  of  bowling.  Grizel 
replied  contemptuously  that  the  time  would 
come  when  both  Peterkin  and  his  disagree- 
able friend  would  be  glad  to  be  kissed; 


itt  of  tto  jStfowt.         155 


upon  which  her  brother  flung  out  of  the  room, 
warmly  protesting  that  she  had  no  right  to 
bring  such  charges  against  fellows. 

Though  Grizel  was  thus  a  little  prejudiced 
against  the  captain,  he  had  not  been  a  day 
in  the  house  when  we  began  to  feel  the 
honor  that  his  visit  conferred  on  us.  He 
was  modest  almost  to  the  verge  of  shyness  ; 
but  it  was  the  modesty  that  is  worn  by  a 
man  who  knows  he  can  afford  it.  While 
Peterkin  was  there  Rawlins  had  no  need  to 
boast,  for  Pete'rkin  did  the  boasting  for  him. 
When,  however,  the  captain  exerted  himself 
to  talk,  Peterkin  was  contented  to  retire  into 
the  shade  and  gaze  at  him.  He  would  look 
at  all  of  us  from  his  seat  in  the  background, 
and  note  how  Rawlins  was  striking  us. 
Peterkin's  face  as  he  gazed  upon  that  of  the 
captain  went  far  beyond  the  rapture  of  a 
lover  singing  to  his  mistress's  eyebrow.  He 
fetched  and  carried  for  him,  anticipated  his 
wants  as  if  Rawlins  were  an  invalid,  and 
bore  his  rebukes  meekly.  When  Rawlins 
thought  that  Peterkin  was  speaking  too 
much,  he  had  merely  to  tell  him  to  shut  up, 
when  Peterkin  instantly  collapsed.  We 
noticed  one  great  change  in  Peterkin.  For- 
merly, when  he  came  home  for  the  holidays 
he  had  strongly  objected  to  making  what  he 
called  drawing-room  calls,  but  all  that  was 
changed.  Now  he  went  from  house  to  house 
showing  the  captain  of!  "This  is  Raw- 


156       WM  dtojrtaitt  rf  tint 


lins,"  remained  his  favorite  form  of  introduc- 
tion. He  is  a  boy  who  can  never  feel  com- 
fortable in  a  drawing-room,  and  so  the  visits 
were  generally  of  short  duration.  They  had 
to  go  because  they  were  due  in  another 
house  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or  he  had 
promised  to  let  Jemmy  Clinker  (who  is  our 
local  cobbler  and  a  great  cricketer)  see  Raw- 
lins.  When  a  lady  engaged  the  captain  in 
conversation,  Peterkin  did  not  scruple  to 
sign  to  her  not  to  bother  him  too  much ; 
and  if  they  were  asked  to  call  again,  Peterkin 
said  he  couldn't  promise.  There  was  a  re- 
markable thing  the  captain  could  do  to  a 
walking-stick,  which  Peterkin  wanted  him 
to  do  everywhere.  It  consisted  in  lying  flat 
on  the  floor,  and  then  raising  yourself  in  an 
extraordinary  way  by  means  of  the  stick. 
I  believe  it  is  a  very  difficult  feat,  and  the 
only  time  I  saw  our  guest  prevailed  upon 
to  perform  it  he  looked  rather  apoplectic. 
Sometimes  he  would  not  do  it,  apparently 
because  he  was  not  certain  whether  it  was 
a  dignified  proceeding.  He  found  it  very 
hard,  nevertheless,  to  resist  the  temptation, 
and  it  was  the  glory  of  Peterkin  to  see  him 
yield  to  it.  From  certain  noises  heard  in 
Peterkin's  bedroom  it  is  believed  that  he  is 
practicing  the  feat  himself. 

Peterkin,  you  must  be  told,  is  an  affection- 
ate boy,  and  almost  demonstrative  to  his 
relatives  if  no  one  is  looking.  He  was  con- 


157 


sequently  very  anxious  to  know  what  the 
captain  thought  of  us  all,  and  brought  us  our 
testimonials  as  proudly  as  if  they  were 
medals  awarded  for  saving  life  at  sea.  It  is 
pleasant  to  me  to  know  that  I  am  the  kind 
of  governor  Rawlins  would  have  liked  him- 
self, had  he  required  one.  Peterkin's  mother, 
however,  is  the  captain's  favorite.  She  pre- 
tended to  take  the  young  man's  preference 
as  i\  joke  when  her  son  informed  her  of  it, 
but  in  reality  I  am  sure  she  felt  greatly  re- 
lieved. .  If  Rawlins  had  objected  to  us,  it 
would  have  put  Peterkin  in  a  very  awkward 
position.  As  for  Grizel,  the  captain  thinks 
her  a  very  nice  little  girl,  but  "for  choice," 
he  says  (according  to  Peterkin),  "give  him 
a  bigger  woman."  Grizel  was  greatly  an- 
noyed when  he  told  her  this,  which  much 
surprised  him,  for  he  thought  it  quite  as 
much  as  she  had  any  right  to  expect.  On 
the  whole  we  were  perhaps  rather  glad  when 
Rawlins  left,  for  it  was  somewhat  trying  to 
live  up  to  him.  Peterkin 's  mother,  too,  has 
discovered  that  her  boy  has  become  round- 
shouldered.  It  is  believed  that  this  is  the 
result  of  a  habit  he  acquired  when  in  Raw- 
lins' company  of  leaning  forward  to  catch 
what  people  were  saying  about  the  captain. 


A  POWERFUL  DRUG. 

(NO  HOUSEHOLD  SHOULD  BE  WITHOUT  IT.) 


ALL  respectable  chemists,  Montgomery 
assures  me,  keep  the  cio-root.  That  is  the 
name  of  the  drug,  and  Montgomery  is  the 
man  who  ought  to  write  its  testimonials. 
This  is  a  testimonial  to  the  efficacy  of  the 
cio-root,  and  I  write  it  the  more  willingly 
because,  until  the  case  of  Montgomery 
cropped  up,  I  had  no  faith  in  patent  medi- 
cines. Seeing,  however,  is,  they  say,  believ- 
ing ;  and  I  have  seen  what  the  cio-root  did  for 
Montgomery.  I  can  well  believe  now  that 
it  can  do  anything,  from  removing  grease- 
spots  to  making  your  child  cry  .out  in  the 
night. 

Montgomery,  who  was  married  years  ago, 
is  subject  to  headaches,  and  formerly  his 
only  way  of  treating  them  was  to  lie  in  bed 
and  read  a  light  novel.  By  the  time  the 
novel  was  finished,  so,  as  a  rule,  was  the 
headache.  This  treatment  rather  interfered 


goiwfui  grug.  159 


with  his  work,  however,  and  he  tried  vari- 
ous medicines  which  were  guaranteed  to 
cure  rapidly.  None  of  them  had  the  least 
result,  until  one  day,  some  two  months  ago, 
good  fortune  made  him  run  against  an  old 
friend  in  Chambers  Street.  Montgomery, 
having  a  headache,  mentioned  it,  and  his 
friend  asked  him  if  he  had  tried  the  cio-root. 
The  name  even  was  unfamiliar  to  Mont- 
gomery, but  his  friend  spoke  so  enthusias- 
tically of  it  that  the  headache  man  took  a 
note  of  it.  He  was  told  that  it  had  never 
been  known  to  fail,  and  the  particular  merit 
of  it  was  that  it  drove  the  headache  away  in 
five  minutes.  The  proper  dose  to  take  was 
half  an  inch  of  the  root,  which  was  to  be 
sucked  and  eventually  swallowed.  Mont- 
gomery tried  several  chemists  in  vain,  for 
they  had  not  heard  of  it,  but  at  last  he  got 
it  on  George  IV.  Bridge.  He  had  so  often 
carried  home  in  triumph  ascertain  cure," 
which  was  subsequently  flung  out  at  the 
window  in  disgust,  that  his  wife  shook  her 
head  at  the  cio-root,  and  advised  him  not  to 
be  too  hopeful.  However,  the  cio-root  sur- 
passed the  fondest  expectations.  It  com- 
pletely cured  Montgomery  in  less  than  the 
five  minutes.  Several  times  he  tried  it,  and 
always  with  the  same  triumphant  result. 
Having  at  last  got  a  drug  to  make  an  idol  of, 
it  is  not  perhaps  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Montgomery  was  full  of  gratitude.  He  kept  a 


160  gt  gflllttfttl 


three-pound  tin  of  the  cio-root  on  his  library- 
table,  and  the  moment  he  felt  a  headache 
coming  on  he  said,  "Excuse  me  for  one 
moment,"  and  bit  off  half  an  inch  of  cio-root. 

The  headaches  "never  had  a  chance.  It 
was  therefore  natural,  though  none  the  less 
annoying,  that  his  one  topic  of  conversation 
should  become  the  properties  of  this  remark- 
able drug.  You  would  drop  in  on  him, 
glowing  over  the  prospect  of  a  delightful 
two  hours'  wrangle  over  the  crofter  question, 
but  he  pushed  the  subject  away  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  and  begged  to  introduce  to  our 
notice  the  cio-root.  Sitting  there  smoking, 
his  somewhat  dull  countenance  would  sud- 
denly light  up  as  his  eyes  came  to  rest  on 
the  three-pound  tin.  He  was  always  ad- 
vising us  to  try  the  cio-root,  and  when  we 
said  we  did  not  have  a  headache  he  got 
sulky.  The  first  thing  he  asked  us  when  we 
met  was  whether  we  had  a  headache,  and 
often  he  clipped  off  an  inch  or  two  of  the 
cio-root  and  gave  it  us  in  a  piece  of  paper, 
so  that  the  headache  might  not  take  us  un- 
awares. I  believe  he  rather  enjoyed  waking 
with  a  headache,  for  he  knew  that  it  would 
not  have  a  chance.  If  his  wife  had  been  a 
jealous  woman,  she  would  not  have  liked 
the  way  he  talked  of  the  cio-root. 

Some  of  us  did  try  the  drug,  either  to 
please  him  or  because  we  were  really  curious 
about  it.  Whatever  the  reason,  none  of  us, 


t  think,  were  prejudiced.  We  tested  it  on 
its  merits,  and  came  unanimously  to  the 
conclusion  that  they  were  negative.  The 
cio-ropt  did  us  no  harm.  The  taste  was 
what  one  may  imagine  to  be  the  taste  of  the 
root  of  any  rotten  tree  dipped  in  tar,  which 
was  subsequently  allowed  to  dry.  As  we 
were  all  of  one  mind  on  the  subject,  we  in- 
sisted with  Montgomery  that  the  cio-root 
was  a  fraud.  Frequently  we  had  such  alter- 
cations with  him  on  the  subject  that  we 
parted  in  sneers,  and  ultimately  we  said  that 
it  would  be  best  not  to  goad  him  too  far  ;  so 
we  arranged  merely  to  chaff  him  about  his 
faith  in  the  root,  and  never  went  farther 
than  insisting,  in  a  pleasant  way,  that  he 
was  cured,  not  by  the  cio-root,  but  by  his 
believing  in  it.  Montgomery  rejected  this 
theory  with  indignation,  but  we  stuck  to  it 
and  never  doubted  it.  Events,  nevertheless, 
will  show  you  that  Montgomery  was  right 
and  that  we  were  wrong. 

The  triumph  of  cio-root  came  as  recently 
as  yesterday.  Montgomery,  his  wife,  and 
myself  had  arranged  to  go  into  Glasgow  for 
the  day.  I  called  for  them  in  the  forenoon 
and  had  to  wait,  as  Montgomery  had  gone 
along  to  the  office  to  see  if  there  were  any 
letters.  He  arrived  soon  after  me,  saying 
that  he  had  a  headache,  but  saying  it  in  a 
cheery  way,  for  he  knew  that  the  root  was 
in  the  next  room.  He  disappeared  into  the 
ii 


1 62  g^  g0W#tfttJ 


library  to  nibble  half  an  inch  of  the  cio-root, 
and  shortly  afterwards  we  set  off.  The 
headache  had  been  dispelled  as.  usual.  In 
the  train  he  and  I  had  another  argument 
about  the  one  great  drug,  and  he  ridiculed 
my  notion  about  its  being  faith  that  drove 
his  headache  away.  I  may  hurry  over  the 
next  two  hours,  up  to  the  time  when  we 
wandered  into  Buchanan  Street.  There 
Montgomery  met  a  friend,  to  whom  he  intro- 
duced me.  The  gentleman  was  in  a  hurry, 
so  we  only  spoke  for  a  moment,  but  after 
he  had  left  us  he  turned  back. 

' '  Montgomery, "  he  said,  ' '  do  you  remem- 
ber that  day  I  met  you  in  Chambers  Street, 
Edinburgh  ?  " 

' '  I  have  good  reason  for  remembering  the 
occasion,"  said  Montgomery,  meaning  to 
begin  the  story  of  his  wonderful  cure ;  but 
his  friend,  who  had  to  catch  a  'bus,  cut  him 
short. 

' '  I  told  you  at  that  time, "  he  said,  * '  about 
a  new  drug  called  the  cio-root,  which  had  a 
great  reputation  for  curing  headaches. " 

"Yes, "said  Montgomery;  "I  always 
wanted  to  thank  you " 

His  friend,  however,  broke  in  again- — 

"I  have  been  troubled  in  my  mind  since 
then,"  he  said,  "because  I  was  told  after- 
wards that  I  had  made  a  mistake  about  the 
proper  dose.  If  you  try  the  cio-root,  don't 
take  half  an  inch,  as  I  recommended,  but 


gntg.  163 


a  quarter  of  an  inch.  Don't  forget.  It  is  of 
vital  importance." 

Then  he  jumped  into  his  'bus,  but  I  called 
after  him,  ' '  What  would  be  the  effect  of 
half  an  inch  ?  " 

"Certain  death,"  he  shouted  back,  and 
was  gone.  I  turned  to  look  at  Montgomery 
and  his  wife.  She  let  her  umbrella  fall  and 
he  had  turned  white.  "Of  course  there  is 
nothing  to  be  alarmed  about,"  I  said,  in 
a  reassuring  way.  ' '  Montgomery  has  taken 
half  an  inch  scores  of  times  ;  you  say  it 
always  cured  you  ?  " 

* '  Yes,  yes, "  Montgomery  answered ;  but 
his  voice  sounded  hollow. 

Up  to  this  point  the  snow  had  kept  off,  but 
now  it  began  to  fall  in  a  soaking  drizzle.  If 
you  are  superstitious  you  can  take  this  as  an 
omen.  For  the  rest  of  the  day,  certainly, 
we  had  a  miserable  time  of  it.  I  had  to  do 
all  the  talking,  and  while  I  laughed  and 
jested,  I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Montgomery  was 
looking  anxiously  from  time  to  time  at  her 
husband.  She  was  afraid  to  ask  him  if  he 
felt  unwell,  and  he  kept  up,  not  wanting  to 
alarm  her.  But  he  walked  like  a  man  who 
knew  that  he  had  come  to  his  last  page.  At 
my  suggestion  we  went  to  St.  Enoch's  Sta- 
tion Hotel  to  have  dinner.  I  had  dinner,  Mrs. 
Montgomery  pretended  to  have  dinner,  but 
Montgomery  himself  did  not  even  make  the 
pretense.  He  sat  with  his  elbows  on  the 


1 64  ^  powerful 


table  and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  At 
last  he  said  with  a  groan  that  he  was  feeling 
very  ill.  He  looked  so  doleful  that  his  wife 
began  to  cry. 

Montgomery  admitted  that  he  blamed  the 
cio-root  for  his  sufferings.  He  had  taken  an 
overdose  of  it,  he  said,  tragically,  and  must 
abide  the  consequences.  I  could  have 
shaken  him,  for  reasoning  was  quite  flung 
away  on  him.  Of  course,  I  repeated  what  I 
had  said  previously  about  an  overdose  hav- 
ing done  him  no  harm  before,  but  he  only 
shook  his  head  sadly.  I  said  that  his  be- 
havior now  proved  my  contention  that  he 
only  believed  in  the  cio-root  because  he  was 
told  that  it  had  wonderful  properties  ;  other- 
wise he  would  have  laughed  at  what  his 
friend  had  just  told  him.  Undoubtedly,  I 
said,  his  sufferings  to-day  were  purely 
imaginary.  Montgomery  did  not  have  suffi- 
cient spirits  to  argue  with  me,  but  he  mur- 
mured in  a  die-away  voice  that  he  had  felt 
strange  symptoms  ever  since  we  set  out  from 
Edinburgh.  Now,  this  was  as  absurd  as  any- 
thing in  Euclid,  for  he  had  been  boasting  of 
the  wonderful  cure  the  drug  had  effected 
again,  most  of  the  way  between  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow.  He  insisted  that  he  had  a 
splitting  headache,  and  that  he  was  very 
sick.  In  the  end,  as  his  wife  was  now  in  a 
frenzy,  I  sent  out  for  a  doctor.  The  doctor 
came,  said  "Yes"  and  "Quite  so"  to  him- 


self,  and  pronounced  Montgomery  feverish. 
That  he  was  feverish  by  this  time,  I  do  not 
question.  He  had  worked  himself  into  a 
fever.  There  was  some  talk  of  putting  him 
to  bed  in  the  hotel, but  he  insisted  ongoing 
home.  Though  he  did  not  put  it  so  plainly, 
he  gave  us  to  understand  that  he  wanted  to 
die  in  his  own  bed. 

Never  was  there  a  more  miserable  trio  than 
we  in  a  railway  carriage.  We  got  a  com- 
partment to  ourselves,  for  though  several 
passengers  opened  the  door  to  come  in,  they 
shrank  back  as  soon  as  they  saw  Montgom- 
ery's ghastly  face.  He  lay  in  a  corner  of 
the  carriage,  with  his  head  done  up  in  flan- 
nel, procured  at  the  hotel.  He  had  the  rugs 
and  my  great-coat  over  his  legs,  but  he 
shivered  despite  them,  and  when  he  spoke  at 
all,  except  to  say  that  he  was  feeling  worse 
every  minute,  it  was  to  talk  of  men  cut  off  in 
their  prime  and  widows  left  destitute.  At 
Mrs.  Montgomery's  wish  I  telegraphed,  from 
a  station  at  which  the  train  stopped,  to  the 
family  doctor  in  Edinburgh,  asking  him  to 
meet  us  at  the  house.  He  did  so  ;  indeed, 
he  was  on  the  steps  to  help  Montgomery 
up  them.  We  took  an  arm  of  the  in- 
valid apiece,  and  dragged  him  into  the 
library. 

It  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  we  went  into 
the  library,  for  the  first  thing  Montgomery 
saw  on  the  table  was  the  half-inch  of  cio 


166 


root  which  he  thought  had  killed  him.     He 
had  forgotten  to  take  it. 

In  ten  minutes  he  was  all  right.  Just  as 
we  were  sitting  down  to  supper,  we  heard 
a  cat  squalling  outside.  Montgomery  flung 
a  three-pound  tin  of  the  cio-root  at  it. 


EVERY  MAN  HIS  OWN  DOCTOR. 


STATISTICS  showing  the  number  of  persons 
who  yearly  meet  their  death  in  our  great 
cities  by  the  fall  of  telegraph  wires  are  pub- 
lished from  time  to  time.  As  our  cities  grow, 
and  the  need  of  telegraphic  communication 
is  more  generally  felt,  this  danger  will 
become  even  more  conspicuous.  Persons 
who  value  their  lives  are  earnestly  advised 
not  to  walk  under  telegraph  wires. 

Is  it  generally  realized  that  every  day  at 
least  one  fatal  accident  occurs  in  our  streets? 
So  many  of  these  take  place  at  crossings  that 
we  would  strongly  urge  the  public  never  to 
venture  across  a  busy  street  until  all  the 
vehicles  have  passed. 

We  find  prevalent  among  our  readers 
an  impression  that  country  life  is  compara- 
tively safe.  This  mistake  has  cost  Great 
Britain  many  lives.  The  country  is  so  full 
of  hidden  dangers  that  one  may  be  said  to 
risk  his  health  every  time  he  ventures  into 
it. 

We  feel   it   our  duty  to  remind  holiday- 


1 68 


makers  that  when  in  the  country  in  the  open 
air,  they  should  never  sit  down.  Many  a 
man,  aye,  and  woman  too,  has  been  done 
to  death  by  neglecting  this  simple  precau- 
tion. The  recklessness  of  the  public,  indeed, 
in  such  matters  is  incomprehensible.  The 
day  is  hot,  they  see  an  inviting  grassy  bank, 
and  down  they  sit.  Need  we  repeat  that 
despite  the  sun  (which  is  ever  treacherous) 
they  should  continue  walking  at  a  smart 
pace  ?  Yes,  bitter  experience  has  taught  us 
that  we  must  repeat  such  warnings. 

When  walking  in  the  country,  holiday- 
makers  should  avoid  over-heating  them- 
selves. Nothing  is  so  conducive  to  disease. 
We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  nine- 
tenths  of  the  colds  that  prove  fatal  are 
caught  through  neglect  of  this  simple  rule. 

Beware  of  walking  on  grass.  Though  it 
may  be  dry  to  the  touch,  damp  is  ever 
present,  and  cold  caught  in  this  way  is 
always  difficult  to  cure. 

Avoid  high-roads  in  the  country.  They 
are,  for  the  most  part,  unsheltered,  and  on 
hot  days  the  sun  beats  upon  them  unmerci- 
fully. The  perspiration  that  ensues  is  the 
beginning  of  many  a  troublesome  illness. 

Country  lanes  are  stuffy  and  unhealthy, 
owing  to  the  sun  not  getting  free  ingress 
into  them.  They  should,  therefore,  be 
avoided  by  all  who  value  their  health.  ' 

In  a  magazine  we  observe  an  article  extol- 


tote  mvw  gortor,       169 


ling1  the  pleasures  of  walking  in  a  wood. 
That  walking  in  a  wood  may  be  pleasant  we 
do  not  deny,  but  for  our  own  part  we  avoid 
woods.  More  draughty  places  could  not 
well  be  imagined,  and  many  a  person  who 
has  walked  in  a  wood  has  had  cause  to 
repent  it  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

It  is  every  doctor's  experience  that  there 
is  a  large  public  which  breaks  down  in 
health  simply  because  it  does  not  take  suffi- 
cient exercise  in  the  open  air.  Once  more 
we  would  remind  our  readers  that  every 
man,  woman,  or  child  who  does  not  spend 
at  least  two  hours  daily  in  the  open  air  is 
slowly  committing  suicide. 

How  pitiful  it  is  to  hear  a  business  man 
say,  as  business  men  so  often  say  :  ''Really 
I  cannot  take  a  holiday  this  summer,  my 
business  ties  me  so  to  my  desk,  and,  besides, 
I  am  feeling  quite  well.  No,  I  shall  send 
my  wife  and  children  to  the  seaside,  and 
content  myself  with  a  Saturday-to-Monday 
now  and  again."  We  solemnly  warn  all 
such  foolish  persons  that  they  are  digging 
their  own  graves.  Change  is  absolutely 
essential  to  health. 

Asked  the  other  day  why  coughs  were  so 
prevalent  in  the  autumn,  we  replied  without 
hesitation,  "Because  during  the  past  month 
or  two  so  many  persons  have  changed  their 
beds. "  City  people  rush  to  the  seaside  in 
their  thousands,  and  here  is  the  result.  A 


change  of  beds  is  dangerous  to  all,  but  per- 
haps chiefly  to  persons  of  middle  age.  We 
have  so  often  warned  the  public  of  this  that 
we  can  only  add  now,  "  If  they  continue  to 
disregard  our  warning,  their  blood  be  on 
their  own  heads."  This  we  say  not  in 
anger,  but  in  sorrow. 

A  case  has  come  to  our  knowledge  of  a 
penny  causing  death.  It  had  passed  through 
the  hands  of  a  person  suffering  from  infec- 
tious fever  into  those  of  a  child,  who  got  it 
as  change  from  a  shop.  The  child  took 
fever  and  died  in  about  a  fortnight.  We 
would  not  have  mentioned  this  case  had  we 
not  known  it  to  be  but  an  instance  of  what 
is  happening  daily.  Infection  is  frequently 
spread  by  money,  and  we  would  strongly 
urge  no  one  to  take  change  (especially  cop- 
pers), from  another  without  seeing  it  first 
dipped  in  warm  water.  Who  can  tell  where 
the  penny  he  gets  in  change  from  the  news- 
paper-boy has  come  from  ?  ^ 

If  ladies,  who  are  ever  purchasing  new 
clothes,  were  aware  that  disease  often  lurks 
in  these,  they  would  be  less  anxious  to  enter 
dressmakers'  shops.  The  saleswoman  who 
"fits"  them  may  come  daily  from  a  home 
where  her  sister  lies  sick  of  a  fever,  or  the 
dress  may  have  been  made  in  some  East 
End  den,  where  infection  is  rampant.  Cases 
of  the  kind  frequently  come  to  our  knowl- 
edge, and  we  would  warn  the  public 


against  this  danger  that  is  ever  present 
among  us. 

Must  we  again  enter  a  protest  against  in- 
sufficient clothing  ?  We  never  take  a  walk 
along  any  of  our  fashionable  thoroughfares 
without  seeing  scores  of  persons,  especially 
ladies,  insufficiently  clad.  The  same  spec- 
tacle, alas  !  may  be  witnessed  in  the  East 
End,  but  for  a  different  reason.  Fashion- 
able ladies  have  a  horror  of  seeming  stout, 
and  to  retain  a  slim  appearance  they  will 
suffer  agonies  of  cold.  The  world  would 
be  appalled  if  it  knew  how  many  of  these 
women  die  before  their  fortieth  year. 

We  dress  far  too  heavily.  The  fact  is, 
that  we  would  be  a  much  healthier  people 
if  we  wore  less  clothing.  Ladies,  especially, 
wrap  themselves  up  too  much,  with  the  re- 
sult that  their  blood  does  not  circulate  freely. 
Coats,  ulsters,  and  other  wraps  cause  far 
more  colds  than  they  prevent. 

Why  have  our  ladies  not  the  smattering  of 
scientific  knowledge  that  would  tell  them  to 
vary  the  thickness  of  their  clothing  with  the 
weather?  New  garments,  indeed,  they  do 
don  for  winter,  but  how  many  of  them  put 
on  extra  flannels  ? 

We  are  far  too  frightened  of  the  weather, 
treating  it  as  our  enemy  when  it  is  ready  to 
be  our  friend.  With  the  first  appearance  of 
frost  we  fly  to  extra  flannel,  and  thus  dan- 
gerously overheat  ourselves. 


1 72 


Though  there  has  been  a  great  improve- 
ment in  this  matter  in  recent  years,  it  would 
be  idle  to  pretend  that  we  are  yet  a  cleanly 
nation.  To  speak  bluntly,  we  do  not  change 
our  under-garments  with  sufficient  frequency. 
This  may  be  owing  to  various  reasons,  but 
none  of  them  is  an  excuse.  Frequent  change 
of  under-clothing  is  a  necessity  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  health,  and  woe  to  those  who 
neglect  this  simple  precaution. 

Owing  to  the  carelessness  of  servants  and 
others,  it  is  not  going  too  far  to  say  that,  four 
times  in  five,  under-garments  are  put  on  in 
a  state  of  semi-dampness.  What  a  fearful 
danger  is  here.  We  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  every  time  a  person  changes  his  linen 
he  does  it  at  his  peril. 

This  is  such  an  age  of  bustle  that  compara- 
tively few  persons  take  time  to  digest  their 
food.  They  swallow  it,  and  run.  Yet  they 
complain  of  not  being  in  good  health.  The 
wonder  rather  is  that  they  do  not  fall  dead 
in  the  street,  as,  indeed,  many  of  them  do. 

How  often  have  doctors  been  called  in  to 
patients  whom  they  find  crouching  by  the 
fireside  and  complaining  of  indigestion  ? 
Too  many  medical  men  pamper  such  pa- 
tients, though  it  is  their  plain  duty  to  tell  the 
truth.  And  what  is  the  truth  ?  Why,  sim- 
ply this,  that  after  dinner  the  patient  is  in 
the  habit  of  spending  his  evening  in  an 
j»rm-chair,  when  he  ought  to  be  out  in  the 


Pan  to  urn  §0tf<w,        173 


open  air,  walking  off  the  effects  of  his  heavy 
meal. 

Those  who  work  hard  ought  to  eat  plenti- 
fully, or  they  will  find  that  they  are  burning 
the  candle  at  both  ends.  Surely  no  science 
is  required  to  prove  this.  Work  is,  so  to 
speak,  a  furnace,  and  the  brighter  the  fire 
the  more  coals  it  ought  to  be  fed  with,  or  it 
will  go  out.  Yet  we  are  a  people  who  let 
our  systems  go  down  by  disregarding  this 
most  elementary  and  obvious  rule  of  health. 

If  doctors  could  afford  to  be  outspoken 
they  would,  twenty  times  a  day,  tell  pati- 
ents that  they  are  simply  suffering  from 
over-eating  themselves.  Every  foreigner 
who  visits  this  country  is  struck  by  this 
propensity  of  ours  to  eat  too  much. 

Very  heart-breaking  are  the  statistics  now 
to  hand  from  America  about  the  increase  in 
smoking.  That  this  fatal  habit  is  also  grow- 
ing in  favor  in  this  country,  every  man  who 
uses  his  eyes  must  see.  What  will  be  the 
end  of  it  we  shudder  to  think,  but  we  warn 
those  in  high  places  that  if  tobacco  smoking 
is  not  checked,  it  will  sap  the  very  vitals 
of  this  country.  Why  is  it  that  nearly  every 
young  man  one  meets  in  the  streets  is  hag- 
gard and  pale?  No  one  will  deny  that  it  is 
due  to  tobacco.  As  for  the  miserable  wretch 
himself,  his  troubles  will  soon  be  over. 

We  have  felt  it  our  duty  from  time  to  time 
to  protest  against  what  is  known  as  the  anti- 


174 


tobacco  campaign.  We  are,  we  believe, 
under  the  mark  in  saying  that  nine  doctors 
in  every  ten  smoke,  which  is  sufficient  dis- 
proof of  the  absurd  theory  that  the  medical 
profession,  as  a  whole,  are  against  smoking. 
As  a  disinfectant,  we  are  aware  that  tobacco 
has  saved  many  lives.  In  these  days  ot 
wear  and  tear,  it  is  especially  useful  as  a 
sedative  ;  indeed,  many  times  a  day,  as  we 
pass  pale  young  men  in  the  streets,  whose 
pallor  is  obviously  due  to  over-excitement 
about  their  businesses,  we  have  thought  of 
stopping  them,  and  ordering  a  pipe  as  the 
medicine  they  chiefly  require. 

Even  were  it  not  a  destroyer  of  health, 
smoking  could  be  condemned  for  the  good 
and  sufficient  reason  that  it  makes  man  sel- 
fish. It  takes  away  from  his  interest  in  con- 
versation, gives  him  a  liking  for  solitude, 
and  deprives  the  family  circle  of  his  presence. 

Not  only  is  smoking  excellent  for  the 
health,  but  it  makes  the  smoker  a  better 
man.  It  ties  him  down  more  to  the  domestic 
circle,  and  loosens  his  tongue.  In  short,  it 
makes  him  less  selfish. 

No  one  will  deny  that  smoking  and  drink- 
ing go  together.  The  one  provokes  a  taste 
for  the  other,  and  many  a  man  who  has 
died  a  drunkard  had  tobacco  to  thank  for 
giving  him  the  taste  for  drink. 

Every  one  is  aware  that  heavy  smokers 
are  seldom  heavy  drinkers.  When  asked,  as 


to  own  §0^0*.       175 


we  often  are,  for  a  cure  for  the  drink  mad- 
ness, we  have  never  any  hesitation  in  ad- 
vising the  application  of  tobacco  in  larger 
quantities. 

Finally,  smoking  stupefies  the  intellect. 

In  conclusion,  we  would  remind  our 
readers  that  our  deepest  thinkers  have  almost 
invariably  been  heavy  smokers.  Some  of 
them  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  they 
owe  their  intellects  to  their  pipes. 

The  clerical  profession  is  so  poorly  paid 
that  we  would  not  advise  any  parent  to  send 
his  son  into  it.  Poverty  means  insufficiency 
in  many  ways,  and  that  means  physical 
disease. 

Not  only  is  the  medical  profession  over- 
stocked (like  all  the  others),  but  medical 
work  is  terribly  trying  to  the  constitution. 
Doctors  are  a  short-lived  race. 

The  law  is  such  a  sedentary  calling,  that 
parents  who  care  for  their  sons'  health  should 
advise  them  against  it. 

Most  literary  people  die  of  starvation. 

Trades  are  very  trying  to  the  young  ;  in- 
deed, every  one  of  them  has  its  dangers. 
Painters  die  from  blood  poisoning,  for  in- 
stance, and  masons  from  the  inclemency 
of  the  weather.  The  commercial  life  on 
'Change  is  so  exciting  that  for  a  man  with- 
out a  specially  strong  heart  to  venture  into 
it  is  to  court  death. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  such  enemy  to  health 


176 


as  want  of  occupation.  We  would  entreat 
all  young  men,  therefore,  whether  of  private 
means  or  not,  to  attach  themselves  to  some 
healthy  calling. 


SHUTTING  A  MAP. 


A    NOTE    OF    WARNING. 


PROMINENT  among  the  curses  of  civilization 
is  the  map  that  folds  up  "  convenient  for  the 
pocket."  There  are  men  who  can  do  almost 
everything  except  shut  a  map.  It  is  calcu- 
lated that  the  energy  wasted  yearly  in  de- 
nouncing these  maps  to  their  face  would 
build  the  Eiffel  Tower  in  thirteen  weeks. 

Almost  every  house  has  a  map  warranted 
to  shut  easily,  which  the  whole  family,  work 
ing  together,  is  unable  to  fold.  It  is  gen- 
erally concealed  at  the  back  of  a  press,  with 
a  heavy  book  on  it  to  keep  it  down.  If  you 
remove  the  book,  the  map  springs  up  like  a 
concertina.  Sometimes  after  the  press  is 
shut  you  observe  something  hanging  out. 
This  is  sure  to  be  part  of  the  map.  If  you 
push  this  part  in,  another  part  takes  its  place. 
No  press  is  large  enough  to  hold  a  map  that 
shuts.  This  is  because  maps  that  shut  are 
maps  that  won't  shut.  They  have  about  as 
much  intention  of  shutting  when  you  buf 

12 


178 


£hem  as  the  lady  has  of  obeying  her  husband 
when  she  gives  a  promise  to  that  effect  in 
vhe  marriage  service. 

Maps  that  shut  may  also  be  compared  to 
the  toys  that  whistle,  spin,  or  jump  when  the 
shopman  is  showing  you  how  to  work  them, 
or  to  the  machinery  that  makes  mangling  a 
pleasure,  or  to  the  instrument  that  sharpens 
a  pencil  in  no  time.  These  are  completely 
under  the  control  of  the  shopman,  but  after 
you  have  bought  them  and  taken  them 
home  they  become  as  uncertain  in  temper 
as  a  nervous  dog. 

The  impossibility  of  shutting  maps  except 
by  accident  having  been  long  notorious,  it 
is  perhaps  remarkable  that  the  public  should 
go  on  buying  them.  There  are  hundreds  of 
persons  engaged  at  this  moment  upon  mak- 
ing maps  that  shut  (as  the  advertisement 
puts  it),  and  there  must,  therefore,  be  a  de- 
mand to  meet  such  a  supply.  It  is  vanity 
that  brings  so  many  people  to  folly. 

To  do  the  nineteenth  century  justice,  no 
one  nowadays  enters  a  shop  with  the  ob- 
ject of  buying  a  map  that  shuts.  Wives, 
especially  young  ones,  have  asked  their 
husbands  to  buy  curious  things  for  them  ; 
and  husbands,  especially  old  ones,  have  done 
it  without  being  asked.  But  no  wife  who 
ever  valued  her  domestic  happiness  has 
ever  requested  her  husband  to  run  into  a 
shop  in  passing  and  buy  a  map  that  shuts. 


179 


Even  if  she  did,  the  husband  would  refuse. 
H  e  might  buy  ' '  Pigs  in  clover  "  if  she  wanted 
it  ;  but  the  map  puzzle,  never. 

Yet  it  has  to  be  sorrowfully  admitted  that 
the  street  could  be  paved  with  the  maps  we 
do  buy.  Vanity  is  the  true  cause  of  our 
fall,  but  a  shopman  is  the  instrument.  That 
even  shopmen  can  shut  maps  which  do 
not  shut  except  in  the  shop,  no  thoughtful 
person  believes  ;  but  over  a  counter  they 
do  it  as  easily  and  prettily  as  a  conjurer 
plays  with  cards. 

"Have  you  seen  this  new  map  ?"  they 
ask  with  affected  carelessness,  while  they 
tie  up  your  books. 

"Anything  special  about  it?"  you  reply 
guardedly. 

"Well,  yes;  it  is  very  convenient  for  the 
pocket." 

At  the  words  "convenient  for  the  pocket " 
you  ought  to  up  with  your  books  and  run, 
foi-  they  are  a  danger  signal ;  but  you  hesi- 
tate and  are  lost. 

"You  see,"  he  goes  on,  "it  folds  into  un- 
usually small  space." 

This  is  merely  another  way  of  saying, 
"You  see  this  is  the  worst  kind  of  map 
that  has  been  yet  invented." 

"  These  maps  that  shut  are  so  difficult  to 
shut,"  you  venture  to  say.  He  laughs. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  says,  "a  child  could 
shut  this  one." 


i8o 


Then  he  opens  and  shuts  it  like  a  lady 
manipulating  her  fan,  and  a  fierce  desire 
grows  within  you  to  do  likewise.  When 
you  leave  the  shop  you  take  away  with  you 
a  map  convenient  for  the  pocket. 

What  makes  you  buy  it  ?  In  your  heart 
you  know  that  you  are  only  taking  home  a 
pocketful  of  unhappiness,  but  you  have  the 
pride  of  life.  In  an  age  when  we  have 
made  slaves  of  electricity  and  steam,  it 
seems  humiliating  that  we  cannot  shut  a 
map.  \Ve  have  ceased,  as  a  people,  to 
look  for  the  secret  of  perpetual  motion,  but 
we  still  hanker  after  the  secret  of  how  to 
shut  a  map. 

No  doubt  the  most  maddening  thing 
about  maps  that  shut  is  that  they  do  shut 
occasionally.  They  never  shut,  however, 
when  you  are  particularly  anxious  that  they 
should  do  so — before  company,  for  instance. 
Very  probably  you  take  the  map  with  you 
from  the  shop  to  your  office,  and  there 
open  it  up.  To  your  delight  it  shuts  quite 
easily.  This  gives  you  a  false  feeling  of 
security.  If  you  would  really  know  whether 
this  map  shuts  more  easily  than  the  various 
other  ones  over  which  you  have  lost  your 
temper,  ask  your  office-boy  to  come  in  and 
see  you  shut  it.  You  will  find  that  it  no 
longer  shuts.  This  is  a  sure  test. 

Instead  of  experimenting  in  this  way, 
and  ordering  the  boy  out  of  the  room  when 


tog  H  Pap. 


you  see  him  trying  to  get  his  face  behind 
his  hand,  you  are  so  foolish  as  to  take  the 
map  home  with  you,  to  let  your  wife  see 
how  easily  it  shuts.  If  you  are  a  keen 
observer  you  will  notice  her  turn  white 
when  she  sees  you  produce  the  map  from 
your  pocket.  She  knows  there  will  be  no 
harmony  this  evening,  and  her  first  deter- 
mination is  to  keep  the  map  from  you  until 
after  dinner. 

What  follows  when  you  produce  the  map 
and  begin  is  too  well-known  to  require 
description.  What  you  ought  to  do  in  the 
circumstances  no  one  out  of  a  pulpit  could 
tell  you,  but  there  are  certain  negative  rules 
which  it  would  be  well  if  you  would  observe. 
For  instance — 

Do  not  be  too  sanguine. — Your  tendency  is 
to  open  the  map  with  a  flourish,  as  one 
sometimes  unfurls  a  handkerchief.  Accom- 
panied by  the  remark  that  nothing  is  easier 
than  to  shut  a  map  once  you  have  the  knack 
of  it,  this  raises  hopes  which  are  not  likely 
to  be  realized.  The  smile  of  anticipatory 
triumph  on  your  face  loses  you  the  sym- 
pathy which  is  your  right  at  such  a  moment 
If  you  are  over-confident,  the  feeling  is  that 
your  failure  will  do  you  good.  On  the 
other  hand, 

Keep  your  misgivings  to  yourself.—  Most 
men,  however  confident  they  have  been  when 
thinking  of  the  ease  with  which  they  can 


1 82 


close  maps,  lose  hope  at  the  last  moment, 
and  admit  that  perhaps  they  have  forgotten 
the  way.  This  is  a  mistake,  for  there  is  al- 
ways just  a  possibility  of  the  map's  shutting 
as  easily  as  an  ordinary  book.  Should  you 
have  prefaced  your  attempt  with  misgivings, 
you  will  not  get  the  credit  of  this,  and  it  will 
be  ascribed  to  chance.  Therefore,  be  neither 
too  sanguine  nor  too  openly  doubtful. 

Don't  repeat  the  experiment. — This,  of 
course,  is  in  the  improbable  event  of  your 
succeeding  the  first  time.  At  once  hand 
over  the  map  to  your  wife,  as  if  you  had 
solved  the  puzzle  forever.  Encouraged  by 
your  success  she  will  probably  attempt  it 
also  and  fail,  when  the  chances  are  that  she 
will  ask  you  to  do  it  again.  As  you  value 
her  good  opinion  of  you,  decline  to  do  so. 
Make  any  excuse  you  think  best.  To  carry 
out  the  deception  more  completely,  lie  back 
in  your  chair,  and  smile  good-naturedly  at 
her  futile  efforts.  Put  on  the  expression  of 
being  amused  at  seeing  her  unable  to  do 
so  simple  a  thing.  As  a  result  she  will  think 
more  of  you  than  ever — if  possible. 

Don't  boast.  — The  chances,  of  course,  are 
that  you  will  have  no  occasion  to  boast ; 
but  in  the  event  of  your  succeeding  by  ac- 
cident, don't  wave  your  arms  in  the  air,  or 
go  shouting  all  over  the  house,  "  I've  done 
it,  I've  done  it  1 "  If  you  behave  in  this 
way  your  elation  will  undo  you,  and  no  one 


^hutting  a  Pap.  183 


will  believe  that  you  can  do  it  again.  Con- 
trol yourself  until  you  are  alone. 

Dortt  speak  to  the  map. — Now  we  come  to 
the  rules  which  should  be  observed  if  you 
fail.  As  the  chances  are  forty-nine  to  one 
that  you  will  fail,  these  rules  are  more  im- 
portant than  the  others.  When  you  have 
got  the  map  half  folded,  you  will  see  that 
there  is  something  wrong.  Do  not  frown  at 
this  point,  and  say,  "  Confound  you,  what 
is  the  matter  with  you  now  ?  "  The  map 
will  not  answer.  It  will  give  you  no  assist- 
ance. You  ought  at  once  to  realize  that 
you  and  it  have  entered  upon  a  desperate 
struggle. 

Dorit  be  rude. — You  would  like  to  shake  it 
as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat ;  but  forbear.  You 
may  remember  that  when  you  witnessed 
the  illegal  contest  between  Jem  Smith  and 
Kilrain  they  shook  hands  before  trying  to 
kill  each  other.  In  the  same  way  you 
should  look  as  if  you  had  no  ill-will  toward 
the  map,  even  when  it  is  getting  the  better 
of  you. 

Don't  fold  it  the  wrong"  way. — When  you 
can't  discover  the  right  way,  don't  clench 
your  teeth  and  fold  it  by  brute  force.  In 
this  way  you  can  no  doubt  appear  to  gain  a 
momentary  advantage  over  it,  but  your 
triumph  is  short-lived.  The  instant  you  take 
your  hand  off  it,  the  map  springs  up,  and 
now,  instead  of  finding  it  convenient  for  the 


1 84  £tmttittg  a 


pocket,  you  would  have  some  difficulty  in 
packing  it  away  in  a  sack. 

Dorit  put  your  fist  through  it. — When  you 
find  that  it  will  neither  go  this  way  nor  that, 
don't  pummel  it.  Spread  it  out,  and  begin 
again. 

Don  t  tear  it. — It  is  a  waste  of  energy  on 
your  part  to  do  this,  for  it  is  sure  to  tear 
itself.  It  can  be  relied  upon  for  this  alone. 

Don't  kick  it  round  the  room. — Though  this 
is  a  pleasure  for  the  moment,  it  is  not  last- 
ing. When  you  come  to  yourself  you  see 
that  the  proceeding  has  been  undignified, 
and,  besides,  the  map  is  no  nearer  being 
folded  than  ever.  You  cannot  remember 
too  persistently  that  a  map  is  not  to  be 
folded  by  bullying.  On  the  other  hand,  you 
can  try  kindness  if  you  like. 

Don't  deceive  yourself  into  thinking  you 
have  done  it. — Your  wife  has  been  wringing 
her  hands  in  anguish  all  the  time  you  have 
been  at  it,  and  is  wildly  anxious  to  get  you 
off  to  bed.  It  is  now  midnight.  Accord- 
ingly, should  you  double  the  map  up,  as  if 
you  were  making  a  snowball  of  it,  she  will 
pretend  to  think  that  you  have  folded  it. 
Don't  be  deceived  by  her.  However  great 
the  temptation  to  accept  her  verdict,  re- 
member that  you  are  a  man,  and  have  con- 
sequently a  mind  of  your  own.  Have  the 
courage  to  admit  defeat. 

Don't  blame  your  wife. — It  is  unmanly  to 


185 


remark  pointedly  that  you  did  it  quite  easily 
when  she  was  not  by.  To  imply  that  she  is 
in  league  with  the  map  against  you  is  un- 
worthy of  a  reasoning  animal. 

Don't  lie. — In  other  words,  if  she  leaves 
the  room  for  a  moment,  don't  say  you  did  it 
while  she  was  out. 

Don't  strike  your  boy. — The  boy  m  y 
snatch  it  from  your  hands,  .nd  fold  it  in  a 
moment.  There  is  great  provocation  in 
this,  but  don't  yield  to  it. 

Don't  take  gloomy  views  of  .ife. — Your 
ignominious  failure  casts  a  gloom  over  the 
household.  Fling  it  off.  Don'!;  speak  of 
your  expenditure  being  beyond  your  in- 
come, or  of  having  to  sell  the  piano.  Be 
cheerful  ;  remember  that  there  is  nobler 
work  for  you  to  do  than  that  on  which  you 
have  squandered  an  evening,  and  that  no- 
body can  fold  maps. 


AN  INVALID   IN  LODGINGS. 


A   TRUE    STORY. 

UNTIL  my  system  collapsed,  and  my  atten- 
uated form  and  white  face  made  me  an 
object  for  looking  at,  my  landlady  only 
spoke  of  me  as  her  parlor.  At  intervals  I 
had  communicated  with  her  through  the 
medium  of  Sarah  Ann,  the  servant,  when 
she  presented  her  compliments  (on  a  dirty 
piece  of  paper),  and,  as  her  rent  was  due  on 
Wednesday,  could  I  pay  my  bill  now  ? 
Except  for  these  monetary  transactions,  my 
landlady  and  I  were  total  strangers,  and, 
though  I  sometimes  fell  over  her  children  in 
the  lobby,  that  led  to  no  intimacy.  Even 
Sarah  Ann  never  opened  her  mouth  to  me. 
She  brought  in  my  tea,  and  left  me  to  dis- 
cover that  it  was  there.  My  first  day  in 
lodgings  I  said  ' '  Good-morning  "  to  Sarah 
Ann,  and  she  replied,  "Eh?"  "Good- 
morning,"  I  repeated,  to  which  she  an- 
swered contemptuously,  "Oh,  ay."  For 
six  months  I  was  simply  the  parlor,  but 


*  ftmtUd  in  |M0ittg0,          187 


then   I   fell   ill,    and    at    once    became   an 
interesting  person. 

Sarah  Ann  found  me  shivering  on  the  sofa 
one  hot  day  a  week  or  more  ago,  beneath 
my  rug,  two  coats,  and  some  other  articles. 
Then  I  ate  no  dinner,  then  I  drank  no  tea, 
and  then  Sarah  Ann  mentioned  the  matter 
to  her  mistress.  My  landlady  sent  up  some 
beef-tea,  in  which  she  has  a  faith  that  is 
pathetic,  and  then  to  complete  the  cure  she 
appeared  in  person.  She  has  proved  a  nice, 
motherly  old  lady,  but  not  cheerful  company. 

' '  Where  do  you  feel  it  worst,  sir  ?  "  she 
asked. 

I  said  it  was  bad  all  over,  but  worst  in  my 
head. 

' '  On  your  brow  ?  " 

"No,  on  the  back  of  my  head." 

"It  feels  like  a  lump  of  lead  ? " 

"No,  like  a  furnace." 

"That's  just  what  I  feared,"  she  said. 
"  It  began  so  with  him." 

"With  whom?" 

"My  husband.  He  came  in  one  day,  five 
years  ago,  complaining  of  his  head,  and  in 
three  days  he  was  a  corpse." 

"What?" 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  sir.  Maybe  it  isn't  the 
same  thing." 

'"Of  course  it  isn't.  Your  husband,  ac- 
cording to  the  story  you  told  me  when  I 
took  these  rooms,  died  of  fever. " 


1 88  w    wattd  iw 


"Yes,  but  the  fever  began  just  in  this 
way.  It  carried  him  off  in  no  time.  You 
had  better  see  a  doctor,  sir.  Doctor  was  no 
use  in  my  husband's  case,  but  it  is  a  satis- 
faction to  have  him." 

Here  Sarah  Ann,  who  had  been  listening 
with  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open,  suddenly 
burst  into  tears,  and  was  led  out  of  the 
room,  exclaiming,  "Him  such  a  quiet 
gentleman,  and  he  never  flung  nothing  at 
me."  Now,  for  the  first  time,  did  I  discover 
that  I  had  touched  Sarah  Ann's  heart. 

Though  I  knew  that  I  had  only  caught  a 
nasty  cold,  a  conviction  in  which  the  doctor 
confirmed  me,  my  landlady  stood  out  for  its 
being  just  such  another  case  as  her  hus- 
band's, and  regaled  me  for  hours  with 
reminiscences  of  his  rapid  decline.  If  I 
was  a  little  better  one  day,  alas  !  he  had 
been  a  little  better  the  day  before  he  died, 
and  if  I  answered  her  peevishly  she  told 
Sarah  Ann  that  my  voice  was  going.  She 
brought  the  beef-tea  up  with  her  own  hand, 
her  countenance  saying  that  I  might  as  well 
have  it,  though  it  could  not  save  me.  Some- 
times I  pushed  it  away  untasted  (how  I 
loathe  beef-tea  now  !),  when  she  whispered 
something  to  Sarah  Ann  that  sent  that 
tender-hearted  maid  howling  once  more 
from  the  room. 

"He's  supped  it  all,"  Sarah  Ann  said, 
one  day,  brightening. 


id  iw  £p>d0ittjj&          189 


"That's  a  worse  sign,"  said  her  mistress, 
"than  if  he  hadn't  took  none/' 

I  lay  on  a  sofa,  pulled  close  to  the  fire, 
and  when  the  doctor  came  my  landlady  was 
always  at  his  heels,  Sarah  Ann's  dismal  face 
showing  at  the  door.  The  doctor  is  a  per- 
sonal friend  of  my  own,  and  each  day  he 
said  I  was  improving  a  little. 

"  Ah,  doctor  !  "  my  landlady  said,  reprov- 
ingly. 

''He  does  it  for  the  best,"  she  exclaimed 
to  me,  ' '  but  I  don't  hold  with  doctors  as 
deceive  their  patients.  Why  don't  he  speak 
out  the  truth  like  a  man  ?  My  husband 
were  told  the  worst,  and  so  he  had  time  to 
reconcile  himself." 

On  one  of  these  occasions  I  summoned  up 
sufficient  energy  to  send  her  out  of  the  room  ; 
but  that  only  made  matters  worse. 

"Poor  gentleman!"  I  heard  her  say  to 
Sarah  Ann  ;  "he  is  very  violent  to-day.  I 
saw  he  were  worse  the  moment  I  clapped 
eyes  on  him.  Sarah  Ann,  I  shouldn't  won- 
der though  we  had  to  hold  him  down  yet." 

About  an  hour  afterwards,  she  came  in  to 
ask  me  if  I  "had  come  more  round  to  my- 
self," and  when  I  merely  turned  round  on 
the  sofa  for  reply,  she  said,  in  a  loud  whis- 
per, to  Sarah  Ann,  that  I  "were  as  quiet  as  a 
lamb  now."  Then  she  stroked  me  and  went 
away. 

So  attentive  was  my  landlady  that  she 


iil  iw 


was  a  ministering  angel.  Yet  I  lay  on  that 
sofa  plotting  how  to  get  her  out  of  the  room. 
The  plan  that  seemed  the  simplest  was  to 
pretend  sleep,  but  it  was  not  easily  carried 
out.  Not  getting  any  answer  from  me,  she 
would  approach  on  tiptoe  and  lean  over  the 
sofa,  listening  to  hear  me  breathe.  Con- 
vinced that  I  was  still  living,  she  and  Sarah 
Ann  began  a  conversation  in  whispers,  of 
which  I  or  the  deceased  husband  was  the 
subject.  The  husband  had  slept  a  good  deal, 
too,  and  it  wasn't  a  healthy  sign. 

"It  isn't  a  good  sign/'  whispered  my  land- 
lady, "though  them  as  know  no  better 
might  think  it  is.  It  shows  he's  getting 
weaker.  When  they  takes  to  sleeping  in  the 
daytime  it's  only  because  they  don't  have 
the  strength  to  keep  awake." 

"Oh,  missus  !  "  Sarah  Ann  would  say. 

"Better  face  facts,  Sarah  Ann,"  replies 
my  landlady. 

In  the  end  I  had  generally  to  sit  up  and 
confess  that  I  heard  what  they  were  saying. 
My  landlady  evidently  thought  this  another 
bad  sign. 

I  discovered  that  my  landlady  held  recep- 
tions in  another  room,  where  visitors  came 
who  referred  to  me  as  her  ' '  trial. "  When 
she  thought  me  distinctly  worse,  she  put  on 
her  bonnet  and  went  out  to  disseminate  the 
sad  news.  It  was  on  one  of  these  occa- 
sions that  Sarah  Ann,  who  had  been  left  in 


gut  giivalitt  in  ^0d0i«00.          191 


charge  of  the  children,  came  to  me  with  a 
serious  request. 

"Them  children,"  she  said,  "want  aw- 
ful to  see  you,  and  I  soit  of  promised  to 
bring 'em  in,  if  so  you  didn't  mind." 

"But,  Sarah  Ann,  they  have  seen  me 
often,  and,  though  I'm  a  good  deal  better,  I 
don't  feel  equal  to  speaking  to  them." 

Sarah  Ann  smiled  pityingly  when  I  said  I 
felt  better,  but  she  assured  me  the  children 
only  wanted  to  look  at  me.  I  refused  her 
petition,  but,  on  my  ultimatum  being  an- 
nounced to  them,  they  set  up  such  i\  roar 
that,  to  quiet  them,  I  called  them  in. 

They  came  one  at  a  time.  Sophia,  the 
eldest,  came  first.  She  looked  at  me  very 
solemnly,  and  then  said  bravely  that  if  I 
liked  she  would  kiss  me.  As  she  had  a 
piece  of  flannel  tied  round  her  face,  and  was 
swollen  in  the  left  cheek,  I  declined  this 
honor,  and  she  went  off  much  relieved. 
Next  came  Tommy,  who  sent  up  a  shriek  as 
his  eyes  fell  on  me,  and  had  to  be  carried 
off  by  Sarah  Ann.  Johnny  was  bolder  and 
franker,  but  addressed  all  his  remarks  to 
Sarah  Ann.  First,  he  wanted  to  know  if  he 
could  touch  me,  and,  being  told  he  could, 
he  felt  my  face  all  over.  Then,  he  wanted 
to  see  the  "spouter. "  The  "spouter"was 
a  spray  through  which  Sarah  Ann  blew  cool- 
ness on  my  head,  and  Johnny  had  heard  of 
it  with  interest.  He  refused  to  leave  the 


192          §M*  ifnvatid  In 


room  until  he  had  been  permitted  to  satu- 
rate me  and  my  cushion. 

1  am  so  much  better  now  that  even  my 
landlady  knows  I  am  not  dying.  I  suppose 
she  is  glad  that  it  is  so,  but  at  the  same  time 
she  resents  it.  She  has  given  up  coming  to 
my  room,  which  shows  that  I  have  wounded 
her  feelings,  and  I  notice  that  the  beef-tea 
is  no  longer  so  well  made.  The  last  time  I 
spoke  to  her  it  was  I  who  introduced  the  sub- 
ject of  her  husband,  and  she  spoke  of  him 
with  a  diminution  of  interest.  His  was  a 
real  illness,  she  said,  with  emphasis  on  the 
adjective  that  made  me  feel  I  had  been 
drinking  beef-tea  on  false  pretenses. 

The  children  are  more  openly  annoyed. 
In  the  innocence  of  youth  they  had  looked 
upon  me  as  a  sure  thing,  and  had  been  so 
"good"  for  nearly  a  week  that  they  feel 
they  will  never  be  able  to  make  the  lost 
time  up.  I  understand  that  their  mother  had 
to  break  my  recovery  to  them  gently. 

But  Sarah  Ann's  is  the  severest  blow. 
For  years  Sarah  Ann  has  been  a  servant  in 
lodging-houses,  with  nobody  and  nothing  to 
take  any  interest  in.  She  has  seen  many 
lodgers  come  and  go  without  knowing  who 
or  what  they  were,  and  she  has  never  had 
a  mistress  who  thought  her  of  any  im- 
portance. In  these  circumstances  the  neg- 
lected one  takes,  in  story-books,  to  tending 
a  flower  in  a  broken  pot,  for  which 


§M*  Invalid  in  $0d0ing&          193 


conceives  a  romantic  attachment.  The 
devotion  Sarah  Ann  might  have  given  to  a 
tulip  she  bestowed  on  me.  For  a  week  I 
believed  she  loved  me,  but  only  on  the 
understanding  that  I  was  leaving  this  world 
behind  me.  Her  interest  in  me  \vas  morbid, 
but  sincere.  I  was  the  only  thing  she  had 
ever  been  given  to  look  after.  If  I  had  gone 
the  way  of  my  landlady's  husband,  I  am 
confident  that  Sarah  Ann  would  have  remem- 
bered me  for  the  whole  summer.  But  it  was 
not  to  be,  and  she  has  not  enough  spirit  to 
complain.  When  she  comes  in  to  remove 
the  breakfast  things  and  finds  that  I  have 
eaten  two  eggs  and  four  slices  of  toast,  she 
says  nothing,  but  I  hear  her  sigh.  In  the 
over-mantel  I  see  her  looking  at  me  so 
reproachfully  that  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
be  angry  with  her.  If  Sarah  Ann's  feelings 
could  be  analyzed  it  would  be  found,  I 
believe,  that  she  looks  upon  herself  as  a 
hopelessly  unlucky  person  doomed  to  eternal 
disappointments.  In  another  week's  time  I 
expect  to  be  able  to  go  to  my  office  as  usual, 
when  Sarah  Ann  and  I  will  again  be 
strangers.  Already  the  children  have  given 
up  opening  my  door  and  peeping  in.  There 
is  an  impression  in  the  house  that  I  am  a 
fraud.  They  call  me  by  my  name  as  yet, 
but  soon  again  I  will  be  the  parlor. 
13 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  TIME-TABLES. 


THE  history  of  the  time-table  is  probably 
this.  When  the  first  one  was  issued  trav- 
elers accepted  it  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was 
produced  :  as  an  amusing  puzzle  with  no 
solution.  By  and  by  they  began  to  tire  of  the 
puzzle,  and  then  a  clever  advertisement  (in 
the  form  of  a  paragraph)  appeared  in  the 
papers  declaring  that  a  gentleman  ("whose 
name  and  address  we  are  not  at  liberty  to 
mention ")  had  solved  the  puzzle,  and  dis- 
covered that  time-tables  really  told  you  when 
your  train  started.  This  revived  interest  in 
the  subject ;  several  persons  wrote  to  the 
Times,  maintaining  that  time-tables  were  for 
use  as  well  as  ornament,  and,  to  be  brief,  a 
cry  arose  that  there  was  more  in  time-tables 
than  met  the  eye.  One  man  who  only  trav- 
eled between  London  and  Bristol,  while  ad- 
mitting that  the  time-table  was  upside  down 
as  to  that  line,  held  that  if  he  traveled  be- 
tween Manchester  and  Newcastle  he  could 
look  up  the  trains  quite  easily  :  a  second 
found  that  his  time-table  told  him  when  his 


195 


train  started  for  Manchester,  only  it  always 
turned  out  to  be  a  Sunday  train  ;  and  a  third 
declared  that  the  time-table  would  enable 
him  to  catch  the  train  for  Scotland  were  it 
not  for  alterations  made  in  the  beginning  of 
the  month.  Soon  time-tables  were  as  much 
a  subject  of  controversy  as  Ibsen  is  to-day. 
There  were  the  Tableites,  as  they  were 
called,  just  as  we  have  the  Ibsenites.  The 
Tableites  were  the  out-and-out  believers  in 
time-tables,  the  persons  who  found  a  pro- 
found meaning  in  every  figure.  At  first  they 
were  few  in  number,  while  the  Anti-Table- 
ites  were  many ;  but  the  minority  were  en- 
thusiastic over  their  discovery,  and  made  a 
creed  of  it.  They  wrote  plays  and  novels 
in  which  Tableites  married  and  found  the 
missing  will,  while  the  Anti-Tableites  were 
left  to  die  at  Waterloo  Station,  looking  vainly 
for  the  way  out.  Of  course,  the  Anti-Table- 
ites retorted,  going  so  far  as  to  say  that  time- 
tables are  immoral  ;  but  the  great  general 
public  is  ever  greedy  of  a  new  thing,  and 
soon  Tableism  was  the  fashion.  At  the  pres- 
ent moment  there  is  hardly  a  man  or  woman 
in  the  United  Kingdom  who  would  dare  to  say 
that  he  or  she  knows  time-tables  to  be  frauds. 
Yet  in  what  is  called  our  innermost  heart 
we  are  all  aware  that  time-tables  remain  a 
puzzle,  and  that  we  only  carry  them  about 
with  us  and  look  knowingly  at  them  because 
it  is  the  national  form  of  swaggering.  No 


196 


one  can  really  look  up  his  train  in  a  time- 
table. 

Then  how  (the  African  monarch  who  is  to 
be  the  next  season's  lion  might  ask)  do  the 
great  English-speaking  people  catch  their 
trains,  for  they  certainly  do  travel  a  good 
deal  ?  You,  O  reader,  could  answer  that 
question.  What  is  your  procedure  when 
you  have  decided  to  take  a  railwayjourney  ? 
It  is  this.  You  say  to  your  wife,  quite  sol- 
emnly, that  she  had  better  send  out  for 
a  new  time-table.  She  says,  with  equal 
solemnity,  that  there  is  a  time-table  some- 
where ;  and  you  reply  that  you  must  have  a 
new  one,  as  there  are  sure  to  be  alterations 
this  month.  Then  you  slip  out  of  the  house 
and  proceed  to  St.  Pancras,  where  you  bribe 
or  threaten  a  porter  into  telling  you  when 
your  train  starts.  Returning  home,  you 
find  the  new  time-table  lying  ready  for  you, 
and,  as  soon  as  your  wife  enters,  you  open 
it  and  mutter:  "Hem!  Ha!  Very  awk- 
ward !  Just  so  !  Have  I  time  to  catch  the 
connection  at  Normanton  ?  Let  me  see 
whether  the  Great  Northern  would  not  suit 
better,"  and  so  on.  Finally  you  say  you 
see  that  the  best  train  starts  at  a  certain 
hour. 

Do  you  believe  you  have  deceived  your 
wife?  Probably  you  think  there  is  just  a 
chance  of  her  having  been  taken  in.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  is  aware  that  time-tables 


197 


are  as  much  a  mystery  to  you  as  to  her, 
and  she  knows  quite  well  that  you  were  at 
St.  Pancras  an  hour  ago.  But  she  keeps  up 
the  deception.  When  she  married  you  she 
knew  what  men  are,  and  that  on  the  sub- 
ject of  time-tables  there  must  be  deceit  be- 
tween man  and  wife  if  they  are  to  be  happy. 
The  ideal  couple  keep  nothing  from  each 
other,  save  this  affair  of  the  time-table,  and 
a  wise  wife,  instead  of  asking  her  husband 
why  he  occasionally  looks  as  if  he  had  a 
secret  on  his  mind,  will  understand  that  he 
is  only  feeling  guilty  of  pretending  to  under- 
stand, '  •  See  Willesden  Junction  K*  2  for 
Wednesday  and  Saturday."  The  perfect 
bride  undertakes  at  the  altar  to  love,  honor, 
and  obey  her  husband,  and  pretend  to  be- 
lieve that  he  can  look  up  his  train. 

But  all  wives  are  not  perfect,  and  one 
often  hears  it  said  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Such-a- 
One  that  they  don't  get  on  together.  The 
name  usually  given  to  their  complaint  is  in- 
compatibility of  temper,  but  inquiry,  which 
we  have  no  right  to  make,  would  prove 
four  times  in  five  that  the  wife  has  been  so 
ill-advised  as  to  challenge  her  husband's 
knowledge  of  time-tables.  Men  who  will 
endure  a  great  deal  from  their  wives,  and 
go  on  reading  their  paper  at  breakfast  quite 
placidly,  fire  up  at  this.  It  is  the  one  charge 
they  cannot  brook  ;  it  takes  six  inches  from 
the  height  of  a.  six-footer,  and  there  will  be 


of 


no  more  happiness  in  that  household  until 
the  wife  apologizes  with  tears.  A  little  ex- 
perience will  show  her  that  nothing  is  to  be 
gained  by  holding  up  her  husband's  one 
weakness  to  the  light,  and  much  by  pretend- 
ing that  his  skill  in  reading  time-tables  is  a 
constant  marvel  to  her.  Speak  of  this  skill 
in  company  when  he  is  present,  and  there 
is  nothing  your  husband  will  deny  you. 
Politicians  call  each  other  everything  that 
is  bad,  and  yet  one  hears  now  and  again 
that  they  continue  to  dine  together.  The 
cynical  say  that  this  is  because  politics 
deadens  the  conscience,  and  that  seems  as 
good  a  reason  as  another.  But  not  even 
members  of  Parliament  are  absolutely  hard- 
ened. It  is  notorious  that  a  few  of  them 
are  not  on  speaking  terms,  and  that  they 
quarreled  over  time-tables.  ''The  honor- 
able gentleman  is  a  moral  cut-throat,  and 
that  is  the  only  moral  thing  about  him/' 
•  "The  honorable  and  gallant  member  for 
Shillelagh  is  a  poltroon,"  are  merely  Parlia- 
mentary expressions  ;  but  tell  a  member 
out  of  the  House  that  he  cannot  look  up  his 
train  in  a  time-table,  and  he  and  you  are 
enemies  forever.  You  cannot  bring  such  a 
charge  against  him  in  the  House  without 
being  sent  to  the  Clock  Tower. 

These  are  all  well-known  facts,  familiar 
to  every  reader,  but  there  is  a  conspiracy  of 
silence  about  them.  Enter  a  railway  com- 


of  %ttm-tMt$.       199 


partmerit,  and  you  find  all  your  fellow-trav- 
elers turning-  over  the  leaves  of  their  time- 
table, with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  one 
who  has  opened  his  map  and  is  making  des- 
perate efforts  to  close  it.  You  open  your 
time-table,  too  ;  but,  instead  of  pretending 
to  understand  it,  please  look  over  it  at  these 
other  humbugs.  The  man  in  the  corner, 
who  has  already  asked  six  porters  if  this  is 
the  train  for  Doncaster,  and  is  still  doubtful, 
sees  your  eye  on  him,  and  says  aloud,  "  Ha  ! 
I  see  we  reach  Doncaster  at  5  :  30."  The 
man  who  is  resting  his  feet  on  your  Glad- 
stone bag  ostentatiously  turns  down  a  cor- 
ner of  his  time-table  to  imply  that  he  has 
found  the  page.  The  third  man  is  boldly 
pretending  that  he  finds  the  index  a  help. 
And  so  it  goes  on,  and  we  all  do  it,  and  we 
are  a  nation  of  hypocrites,  for  not  one  of 
us  can  solve  the  riddle  of  the  time-tables  or 
find  out  anything  from  them,  save  that  all 
the  trains  are  running  in  the  wrong  direc- 
tion. But  why  not  be  open,  and  admit  that 
the  time-tables  are  a  mystery  still? 


MENDING  THE  CLOCK. 


IT  >.*  a  little  American  clock,  which  I  got 
AS  a  present  about  two  years  ago.  The 
donor  told  me  it  cost  half-a-guinea,  but  on 
inquiry  at  the  shop  where  it  was  bought 
(this  is  what  I  always  do  when  I  get  a 
present),  I  learned  that  the  real  price  was 
four-and-sixpence.  Up  to  this  time  I  had 
been  hesitating  about  buying  a  stand  for 
it,  but  after  that  I  determined  not  to  do  so. 
Since  I  got  it,  it  has  stood  on  my  study 
mantel-piece,  except  once  or  twice  at  first, 
when  its  loud  tick  compelled  me  to  wrap 
it  up  in  flannel,  and  bury  it  in  the  bottom  of 
the  drawer.  Until  a  fortnight  ago  my  clock 
went  beautifully,  and  I  have  a  feeling  that 
had  we  treated  it  a  little  less  hardly  it  would 
have  continued  to  go  well.  One  night  a 
fortnight  ago  it  stopped,  as  if  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  had  forgotten  to  wind  it  up. 
I  wound  it  up  as  far  as  was  possible,  but 
after  going  for  an  hour  it  stopped  again. 
Then  I  shook  it,  and  it  went  for  five  minutes. 
I  strode  into  another  room  to  ask  who  had 


201 


been  meddling  with  my  clock,  but  no  one 
had  touched  it.  When  I  came  back  it  was 
going  again,  but  as  soon  as  I  sat  down  it 
stopped.  I  shook  my  fist  at  it,  which  terri- 
fied it  into  going  for  half  a  minute,  and  then 
it  went  creak,  creak,  like  a  clock  in  pain. 
The  last  thing-  it  did  before  stopping  finally 
was  to  strike  nineteen. 

For  two  days  I  left  my  clock  serenely 
alone,  nor  would  I  ever  have  annoyed  my- 
self with  the  thing  had  it  not  been  for  my 
vistors.  I  have  a  soul  above  mechanics, 
but  when  the&e  visitors  saw  that  my  clock 
had  stopped  they  expressed  surprise  at  my 
not  mending  it.  How  different  I  must  be, 
they  said,  fro;n  my  brother,  who  had  a 
passion  for  making  himself  generally  useful. 
If  the  clock  had  been  his  he  would  have  had 
it  to  pieces  and  put  it  right  within  the  hour. 
I  pointed  out  that  my  mind  was  so  full  of 
weightier  matters  that  I  could  not  descend  to 
clocks,  but  they  had  not  the  brains  to  see 
that  what  prevented  my  mending  the  clock 
was  not  incapacity,  but  want  of  desire  to  do 
so.  This  has  ever  been  the  worry  of  my 
life,  that,  because  I  don't  do  certain  things, 
people  take  it  for  granted  that  I  can't  do 
them.  I  took  no  prizes  at  school  or  college, 
but  you  entirely  misunderstand  me  if  you 
think  that  that  was  because  I  could  not  take 
them.  The  fact  is,  that  I  had  always  a  con- 
tempt for  prizes  and  prizemen,  and  I  have 


202  Pawling  the  (Elocfc. 


ever  been  one  of  the  men  who  gather  statis- 
tics to  prove  that  it  is  the  boy  who  sat  at 
the  foot  of  his  class  that  makes  his  name  in 
after  life.  I  was  that  boy,  and  though  1 
have  not  made  my  mark  in  life  as  yet,  I 
could  have  done  it  had  I  wanted  to  do  so  as 
easily  as  I  could  mend  a  clock.  My  visitors, 
judging  me  by  themselves,  could  not  fol- 
low this  argument,  though  I  have  given 
expression  to  it  in  their  presence  many 
times,  and  they  were  so  ridiculous  as  to  say 
it  was  a  pity  that  my  brother  did  not  happen 
to  be  at  home. 

"Why,  what  do  I  need  him  for  ?  "  I  asked, 
irritably. 

"To  mend  the  clock,"  they  replied,  and 
all  the  answer  I  made  to  them  was  that  if 
I  wanted  the  clock  mended  I  would  mend 
it  myself. 

"But  you  don't  know  the  way,"  they  said. 

"Do  you  really  think,"  I  asked  them, 
"that  I  am  the  kind  of  man  to  be  beaten  by 
a  little  American  clock  ?  " 

They  replied  that  that  was  their  belief,  at 
which  I  coldly  changed  the  subject. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  attempt  it?" 
they  asked,  as  they  departed. 

"  Not  I,"  I  said  ;  "  I  have  other  things  to 
do." 

Nevertheless  the  way  they  flung  my 
brother  at  me  annoyed  me,  and  I  returned 
straight  from  the  door  to  the  study  to  mend 


th*  €tefe.  203 


ihe  clock.  It  amused  me  to  picture  their 
chagrin  when  they  dropped  in  the  next  night 
and  found  my  clock  going  beautifully. 
"Who  mended  it  ?  "  I  fancied  them  asking, 
and  I  could  not  help  practicing  the  careless 
reply,  "Oh,  I  did  it  myself."  Then  I  took 
the  clock  in  my  hands,  and  sat  down  to 
examine  it. 

The  annoying  thing,  to  begin  with,  was 
that  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  in.  The 
clock  was  practically  hermetically  sealed, 
for,  though  the  back  shook  a  little  when  I 
thumped  it  on  my  knee,  I  could  see  quite  well 
that  the  back  would  not  come  off  unless  I 
broke  the  mainspring.  I  examined  the  clock 
carefully  round  and  round,  but  to  open  the 
thing  up  was  as  impossible  as  to  get  into  an 
egg  without  chipping  the  shell.  I  twisted 
and  twirled  it,  but  nothing  would  move. 
Then  I  raged  at  the  idiots  who  made  clocks 
that  would  not  open.  My  mother  came  in 
about  that  time  to  ask  me  how  I  was  getting 
on. 

"  Getting  on  with  what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"With  the  clock,"  she  said. 

"The  clock,"  I  growled,  "is  nothing  to 
me,"  for  it  irritated  me  to  hear  her  insinuat- 
ing that  I  had  been  foiled. 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  trying  to  mend 
it,"  she  said/ 

"Not  at  all,"  I  replied;  "I  have  some- 
thing else  to  do." 


204  porting  the  (Stack. 


"What  a  pity,"  she  said,  "that  Andrew 
is  not  here. " 

Andrew  is  the  brother  they  are  always 
flinging  at  me. 

"He  could  have  done  nothing,"  I  retorted, 
"  for  the  asses  made  this  clock  not  to  open." 

"I'm  sure  it  opens/'  my  mother  said. 

"Why  should  you  be  sure?"  I  asked, 
fiercely. 

"Because,"  she  explained,  "I  never  saw 
or  heard  of  a  clock  that  doesn't  open." 

"Then,"  I  snarled,  "  you  can  both  see  and 
hear  of  it  now  " — and  I  pointed  contempt- 
uously at  my  clock. 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  went  out,  and 
as  soon  as  the  door  shut  I  hit  the  clock  with 
my  clenched  fist  (stunning  my  fourth  finger). 
I  had  a  presentiment  that  my  mother  was 
right  about  the  clock's  opening,  and  I  feared 
that  she  still  labored  under  the  delusion  that 
I  had  been  trying  to  mend  the  exasperating 
thing. 

On  the  following  day  we  had  a  visit  from 
my  friend  Summer,  and  he  had  scarcely  sat 
down  in  my  study  when  he  jumped  up,  ex- 
claiming, "Hullo,  is  that  the  right  time?" 

I  said  to  him  that  the  clock  had  stopped, 
and  he  immediately  took  it  on  his  knees.  I 
looked  at  him  sideways,  and  saw  at  once 
that  he  was  the  kind  of  man  who  knows 
about  clocks.  After  shaking  it  he  asked  me 
what  was  wrong. 


the  (JMfldk,  205 


"It  needs  cleaning,"  I  said  at  a  venture, 
for  if  I  had  told  him  the  whole  story  he 
might  have  thought  that  I  did  not  know  how 
to  mend  a  clock. 

"Then  you  have  opened  it  and  examined 
the  works  ?  "  he  asked,  and  not  to  disappoint 
him,  I  said  yes. 

"If  it  needs  cleaning,  why  did  you  not 
clean  it  ?  "  was  his  next  question. 

"I  hate  inquisitiveness  in  a  man,  but  I 
replied  that  I  had  not  had  time  to  clean  it. 
He  turned  it  round  in  his  hands,  and  I  knew 
what  he  was  looking  for  before  he  said  : 

"  I  have  never  taken  an  American  clock 
to  pieces.  Does  it  open  in  the  ordinary 
way  ?  " 

"This  took  me  somewhat  aback,  but  Sum- 
mer, being  my  guest,  had  to  be  answered. 

"Well,"  I  said,  cautiously,  "it  does  and 
it  doesn't." 

He  looked  at  it  again,  and  then  held  it 
out  to  me,  saying  :  "You  had  better  open 
it  yourself,  seeing  that  you  know  the 
way. " 

There  was  a  clock  in  the  next  room,  and 
such  a  silence  was  there  in  my  study  after 
that  remark  that  I  could  distinctly  hear  it 
ticking. 

"Curiously  unsettled  weather,"  I  said. 

"Very,"  he  answered.  "But  let  me  see 
how  you  get  at  the  works  of  the  clock." 

"The  fact  is,"  I  said,  "that  I  don't  want 


206 


this  clock  mended ;  it  ticks  so  loudly  that  it 
disturbs  me." 

"Never  mind,"  Summer  said,  "about 
that.  I  should  like  to  have  a  look  at  its  in- 
ternals, and  then  we  can  stop  it  if  you  want 
to  do  so." 

Summer  talked  in  a  light  way,  and  I  was 
by  no  means  certain  whether,  once  it  was 
set  a-going,  the  clock  could  be  stopped  so 
easily  as  he  thought,  but  he  was  evidently 
determined  to  get  inside. 

"  It  is  a  curious  little  clock,"  I  said  to 
him  ;  "a  sort  of  puzzle,  indeed,  and  it  took 
me  ten  minutes  to  discover  how  to  \open  it 
myself.  Suppose  you  try  to  find  out  the 
way  ? " 

"All  right,"  Summer  said,  and  then  he 
tried  to  remove  the  glass. 

"The  glass  doesn't  come  off,  does  it?" 
he  asked. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,"  I  replied. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Summer,  speaking  to 
himself;  "is  it  the  feet  that  screw  out?" 

It  had  never  struck  me  to  try  the  feet ; 
but  I  said  :  "  Find  out  for  yourself." 

I  sat  watching  with  more  interest  than  he 
gave  me  credit  for,  and  very  soon  he  had 
both  the  feet  out  ;  then  he  unscrewed  the  ring 
at  the  top,  and  then  the  clock  came  to  pieces. 

"I've  done  it,"  said  Summer. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "but  you  have  been  a 
long  time  about  it." 


207 


He  examined  the  clock  with  a  practiced 
eye,  and  then — 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  me/'  he  said,  "  to  be 
requiring  cleaning. " 

A  less  cautious  man  than  myself  would 
have  weakly  yielded  to  the  confidence  of 
this  assertion,  and  so  have  shown  that  he 
did  not  know  about  clocks. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  does,"  I  said,  in  a  decisive 
tone. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "we  had  better  clean 
it." 

"I  can't  be  bothered  cleaning  it,"  I  replied, 
"but,  if  you  like,  you  can  clean  it." 

"Are  they  cleaned  in  the  ordinary  way, 
those  American  clocks  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "they  are  and  they 
aren't." 

"How  should  I  clean  it,  then?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  in  the  ordinary  way,"  I  replied. 

Summer  proceeded  to  clean  it  by  blowing 
at  the  wheels,  and  after  a  time  he  said, 
"We'll  try  it  now." 

He  put  it  together  again,  and  then  wound 
it  up,  but  it  would  not  go. 

"There  is  something  else  wrong  with  it," 
he  said. 

"We  have  not  cleaned  it  properly,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

"Clean  it  yourself,"  he  replied,  and  flung 
out  of  the  house. 

After  he  had  gone  I  took  up  the  clock  to 


208  *wto    ih* 


see  how  he  had  opened  it,  and  to  my  sur- 
prise it  began  to  go.  I  laid  it  down  triumph- 
antly. At  last  I  had  mended  it.  When 
Summer  came  in  an  hour  afterwards  he 
exclaimed — 

"  Hullo,  it's  going." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  put  it  to  rights  after 
you  went  out. " 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  cleaned  it  properly,"  I  replied. 

As  I  spoke  I  was  leaning  against  the 
mantel-piece,  and  I  heard  the  clock  begin- 
ning to  make  curious  sounds,  I  gave  the 
mantel-piece  a  shove  with  my  elbow,  and 
the  clock  went  all  right  again.  Summer  had 
not  noticed.  He  remained  in  the  room  for 
half-an-hour,  and  all  that  time  I  dared  not  sit 
down.  Had  I  not  gone  on  shaking  the 
mantel-piece  the  clock  would  have  stopped 
at  any  moment.  When  he  went  at  last  I 
fell  thankfully  into  a  chair,  and  the  clock 
had  stopped  before  he  was  half-way  down 
the  stairs.  I  shook  it  and  it  went  for  five 
minutes,  and  then  stopped.  I  shook  it 
again,  and  it  went  for  two  minutes.  I  shook 
it,  and  it  went  for  half  a  minute.  I  shook  it, 
and  it  did  not  go  at  all. 

The  day  was  fine,  and  my  study  window 
stood  open.  In  a  passion  I  seized  hold  of 
that  clock  and  flung  it  fiercely  out  into  the 
garden.  It  struck  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  and  fell  into  a  flower-bed.  Then  I 


flu  $Io*fe.  209 


stood  at  the  window  sneering  at  it,  when 
suddenly  I  started.  I  have  mentioned  that 
it  has  a  very  loud  tick.  Surely  I  heard  it 
ticking- !  I  ran  into  the  garden.  The  clock 
was  going  again  !  Concealing  it  beneath 
my  coat  I  brought  it  back  to  the  study,  and 
since  then  it  has  gone  beautifully.  Every- 
body is  delighted  except  Summer,  who  ii 
naturally  a  little  annoyed. 
14 


THE 

BIGGEST  BOX  IN  THE  WORLD. 


THE  largest  ship  the  seas  have  ever  seen 
was  not,  as  is  generally  held,  the  Great 
Eastern.  It  was  the  vessel  in  which  William 
the  Conqueror  came  over  to  England,  bring- 
ing the  ancestors  of  so  many  people  with 
him.  One  thinks  of  this  enormous  ship 
when  looking  about  him  for  anything  with 
which  to  compare  Glengarry's  box.  As 
William's  ship  is  to  other  ships,  so  is  Glen- 
garry's box  to. all  other  boxes. 

Glengarry  is  a  medical  in  his  ninth  year. 
He  has  a  romantic  notion  that  he  could  real- 
ly study  if  he  had  the  proper  surroundings. 
He  finds  that  the  sharp  corners  of  a  square 
room  are  against  concentration,  and  that 
long  rooms  are  depressing,  and  round  rooms 
too  exhilarating.  In  quest  of  the  room  that 
would  suit  him  he  changes  his  lodgings  every 
month  or  so,  but  though  his  cab,  with  a  ton 
of  luggage  on  the  top  of  it,  and  bags  falling 
off  the  seat,  is  now  a  familiar  sight  in  most 


iu  ite  WmML     211 


Edinburgh  streets,  Glengarry  has  never  yet 
come  upon  a  room  that  has  proved  a  real 
help. 

It  will  already  be  seen  why  Glengarry  be- 
gan to  think  by  day  and  night  of  a  big  box. 
He  did  not  want  it  to  study  in,  but  to  hold 
his  things  in,  as  he  passed  from  one  tem- 
porary home  to  another.  In  nine  years  he 
had  accumulated  a  great  many  suits  of 
clothes,  and  these  Glengarry  had  to  drag 
after  him  from  lodging  to  lodging.  In  his 
passionate  desire  to  become  a  doctor  he 
has  now  hundreds  of  note-books,  most  of 
them  left  him  by  men  who  have  got  round 
the  examiners,  and  at  the  University,  where 
such  things  are  talked  of  with  bated  breath, 
he  is  reputed  to  have  the  only  complete  col- 
lection of  cribs  and  keys  in  Edinburgh.  His 
rooms  are  thus  a  favorite  resort. 

After  Glengarry  had  packed  all  his  belong- 
ings, as  he  fondly  thought,  he  usually  dis- 
covered that  he  had  forgotten  the  six  vol- 
umes in  manuscript  entitled  "  How  to  Get 
the  Soft  Side  of  Turner,"  or  twelve  pairs  of 
boots,  or  three  old  coats,  or  something  else, 
and  then  the  straps  had  to  be  taken  off  his 
boxes  again  when  the  lid  jumped  up,  explod- 
ing the  contents  in  all  directions.  Thus  the 
idea  of  a  box  sufficiently  gigantic  to  hold 
everything  took  possession  of  Glengarry  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  could  almost  have 
passed  an  examination  in  it. 


in  tlu 


Rumors  that  the  box  had  been  contracted 
for  were  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  at  the 
University  three  months  ago.  These  were 
at  first  scouted,  as  big  undertakings — the 
Channel  Tunnel,  for  instance — usually  are; 
but  it  was  noticed  that  Glengarry  often  wore 
a- preoccupied  look  now,  and  was  absenting 
himself  from  his  classes  even  more  frequent- 
ly than  usual.  When  asked  to  stand  for  the 
Students'  Council  he  said  that  he  had  some- 
thing else  in  his  eye  at  present.  Some 
thought  that  he  referred  to  a  scheme  for  writ- 
ing answers  to  all  possible  medical  questions 
on  his  shirt-sleeves,  but  he  was  really  think- 
ing of  the  box.  It  was  by  this  time  in 
course  of  construction,  the  plans  being  Glen- 
garry's own. 

At  that  time  Glengarry  was  living  in  Fred- 
erick Street,  at  the  top  of  the  house.  The 
room  was  of  such  remarkable  construction 
that  it  could  not  be  classified,  and  when  he 
took  it  he  thought  he  had  got  what  he  was 
after  at  last.  Bitter  disappointment  awaited 
him,  however,  for  the  wind  howled  up  there 
all  day  long,  and  he  cannot  study  in  wind. 
He  was  anxious,  too,  to  try  his  new  box  as 
soon  as  possible,  so  he  engaged  another 
room  in  Cumberland  Street,  where  there  was 
said  to  be  no  wind. 

The  night  before  Glengarry  was  to  leave 
Frederick  Street  he  sat  waiting  for  his  box 
as  impatiently  as  though  it  were  a  letter  in 


in  tht  WtorML     213 


an  angular  hand.  By  this  time  he  would, 
on  former  occasions,  have  been  damp  with 
perspiration  caused  by  his  efforts  to  get  all 
his  things  into  three  small  boxes  and  five 
Gladstone  bags.  He  would  have  been  sit- 
ting on  the  boxes  in  wild  attempts  to  close 
them,  finding  after  they  were  closed  that 
a  coat-sleeve  was  sticking  out,  or  that  the 
bootjack  had  taken  advantage  of  some  mo- 
ment when  he  had  his  back  to  it  to  leap  out 
of  a  bag  and  hide  beneath  the  table.  His 
feet  would  have  been  catching  in  waistcoats 
which  he  could  have  sworn  were  at  the  bot- 
tom of  box  2,  and  he  would  have  had  a  pre- 
sentiment that  he  had  forgotten  to  pack  his 
"Guide  to  the  Ways  of  Grainger  Stewart." 
Even  after  the  boxes  were  so  full  that  the 
locks  refused  to  work,  and  the  Gladstone 
bags  were  of  new  and  strange  shapes,  look- 
ing like  animals  whose  bones  wanted  to 
burst  the  skin,  he  would  have  had  to  make 
up  brown  paper  parcels,  out  of  which  books, 
brushes,  and  photograph  frames  would  fall 
as  he  carried  them  down  the  stair.  But  the 
box  was  coming,  and  Glengarry  smoked, 
and  chuckled  at  the  surprise  he  would  give 
his  things  directly. 

Glengarry  was  in  this  pleasing  frame  of 
mind,  as  exultant  as  if  a  message  had  come 
asking  him  to  cut  off  a  magistrate's  leg, 
when  the  bell  rang.  He  tried  not  to  look 
proud,  but  listened  eagerly  to  make  sure 


214      a*     i*#     0x  in  to 


that  his  landlady  had  gone  to  the  door.  His 
landlady  finished  her  supper  and  put  her 
children  to  bed,  and  then  remembered  that 
the  bell  had  been  ringing  for  some  time. 
Soon  afterwards  she  informed  Glengarry  that 
two  men  wanted  to  see  him,  also  that  they 
were  using  language.  Glengarry  waved  his 
hand  grandly,  and  told  her  to  show  them  in. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  brought  the  box?" 
Glengarry  said. 

They  said  they  had,  and  they  wanted  to 
know  what  they  were  to  do  with  it. 

"Bring  it  in  here,"  said  Glengarry. 

"We  can't  get  it  up  the  stair." 

"What?  It  can't  be  heavy  with  nothing 
in  it." 

"No,  but  it's  too  big.  If  you  want  it  up 
here  you'll  have  to  widen  the  passage." 

Glengarry's  pipe  went  out  at  this,  and  he 
said  falteringly  that  he  would  come  down 
and  have  a  look  at  the  box.  When  he  saw 
it  in  all  its  magnitude,  the  box  staggered 
him. 

"Perhaps  it  could  be  got  into  your  room 
by  the  window,"  one  of  the  men  said;  "but 
you  would  have  to  take  the  window  out 
first." 

"And  you  would  need  a  crane,"  said  the 
other  man,  "to  lift  it  up." 

Glengarry  measured  the  passage,  and  saw 
that  the  leviathan  box  could  never  enter 
it 


in  the  W0vt4.     215 


"Can  you  leave  the  box  here  all  night?" 
he  asked. 

''You  would  be  run  in  if  we  did  that/'  the 
men  said. 

There  was,  therefore,  nothing  for  it  but  to 
bribe  them  to  take  the  box  away  again. 

"Bring  it  back  early  in  the  morning,'* 
Glengarry  said,  "  before  there  is  much  traf- 
fic. It  might  frighten  the  horses. " 

"They  would  take  it  for  a  steam  tram," 
said  the  men. 

That  night  Glengarry  stole  into  Cumber- 
land Street  with  a  string,  and  measured  the 
passage  that  led  to  his  new  lodgings.  The 
passage  was  wide  enough  to  admit  the  box. 

On  the  following  evening  two  other  medi- 
cals, Smith  (seventh  year)  and  Flint  (sixth 
year),  called  at  Cumberland  Street  as  a 
deputation  from  the  medical  faculty,  who 
wanted  to  know  about  the  box.  They  were 
shown  into  Glengarry's  new  abode,  and 
Glengarry  welcomed  them  nervously. 

"It  looks  like  a  good  room  for  working 
in,"  said  Smith,  who  always  thinks  he  could 
work  in  other  people's  rooms,  "but  where 
is  the  box  ? " 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  don't 
see  it  ?  "  asked  Glengarry. 

Smith  and  Flint  looked  round  the  room, 
and  their  eyes  rested  on  what  they  had 
taken  for  a  monster  cupboard. 

4 « Is  it  in  there  ?  "  asked  Flint. 


216 


"  In  there ! "  cried  Glengarry  in  dig- 
nantly  ;  "  that  is  it." 

<  'What?" 

"The  box." 

"I  took  it  for  a  bedroom,"  said  Flint. 

"It  is  more  like  a  cabmen's  shelter,"  said 
Smith. 

When  the  visitors  had  come  to,  they 
Wanted  to  know  how  the  box  was  brought 
from  Frederick  Street,  but  at  first  Glengarry 
refused  to  gratify  their  curiosity.  He  was  in 
need  of  sympathy,  however,  and  gradually 
they  got  the  story  out  of  him. 

Though  the  box  had  arrived  at  Frederick 
Street  early  in  the  morning,  a  crowd  soon 
gathered  round  it,  owing  to  an  absurd  rumor 
that  it  was  to  be  erected  as  a  house  for  the 
band  in  Princes  Street  Gardens.  Glengarry 
had  to  carry  all  his  things  down  to  the  box, 
and  pack  it  there,  and  then  the  story  went 
out  that  it  was  a  furniture  van.  When  the 
boys  realized  that  the  "show,"  as  they 
termed  it,  belonged  to  Glengarry,  they 
studied  him  as  he  packed,  and  for  a  time 
their  gaze  was  reverent.  Becoming  used 
to  the  idea,  however,  they  took  to  jumping 
over  the  box  (and  into  it  when  the  owner 
was  on  his  way  up  or  down  stairs)  ;  to  show 
that  they  appreciated  the  magnitude  of  his 
labors  they  gave  three  ringing  cheers  every 
time  he  appeared  with  another  load. 

Glengarry  in  his  excitement  was  so  foolish 


in  th* 


as  to  think  that  the  box  could  be  conveyed 
to  Cumberland  Street  on  a  cab,  but  the  cab- 
men whom  he  hailed  gave  him  a  piece  of 
their  mind.  At  last  a  lorry  was  got,  and  the 
box  was  raised  upon  it  by  six  men,  amid 
loud  applause  from  the  boys,  who  insisted 
on  following  the  lorry  to  Cumberland  Street, 
sadly  and  solemnly,  as  if  they  were  walking 
in  a  funeral  procession.  Men  and  boys 
joined  the  crowd,  as  the  fame  of  the  box 
spread,  and  when  it  arrived  at  its  destination 
all  Cumberland  Street  was  in  a  commotion. 

The  box  was  got  into  the  passage  and 
there  it  stood. 

"Turn  it  on  its  side,"  cried  Glengarry, 
but  it  would  not  turn. 

"Pull  it  back,"  was  his  next  suggestion, 
but  it  would  not  pull  back. 

The  six  men  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
wiped  their  brows,  and  the  boys  danced 
with  honest  glee.  Lodgers  going  out  found 
their  way  blocked  by  the  box,  and  had  to 
climb  over  it.  A  lady  who  had  been  leav- 
ing tracts  had  to  go  up  the  stairs  again  and 
sit  in  some  kitchen  for  an  hour. 

The  policeman  came  and  said  : 

"Come,  you  know,  this  won't  do,"  and 
then  strolled  away. 

'  Glengarry's  new  landlady  apologized  to 
all  the  people  on  the  stairs  for  having  al- 
lowed Glengarry  to  have  the  back  parlor. 
She  also  warned  Glengarry  that  if  the  box 


was  brought  up  it  would  probably  kill  the 
people  below. 

A  man  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
opened  his  window  and  shouted  direc- 
tions. 

"  Break  the  lid  or  the  door  of  the  thing-," 
he  cried,  "  carry  up  its  contents  in  youi 
arms." 

Unfortunately  the  box  was  lying  on  its 
lid,  and  so  the  suggestion  was  not  practical. 
At  last  the  six  men  disappeared  and  came 
back  with  an  ax.  With  this,  one  made  a 
way  into  the  box,  and  the  boys  shouted 
gleefully  once  more  as  they  heard  the  ax 
smashing  Glengarry's  pictures. 

All  forenoon  Glengarry  was  carrying  up 
armfuls  of  books,  boots,  and  clothing,  and 
then  the  box  itself  was  carried  up.  Glen- 
garry grudged  the  money  he  had  to  pay 
those  six  men  until  the  bill  for  the  box  came 
in,  when  he  saw  that  the  men  had  been 
cheap  in  comparison. 

The  box  and  Glengarry  are  in  Cumber- 
land Street  still.  Glengarry  would  have 
tried  new  rooms  long  ago  if  he  could  have 
left  the  box  behind  him,  but  the  landlady 
refuses  to  accept  it.  The  room  is  utterly 
unsuitable  for  working  in,  Glengarry  not 
being  able  to  work  where  there  is  no  wind, 
and,  consequently,  he  does  not  mean  to  go 
in  for  his  final  this  year.  His  friends  have 
suggested  that  the  box  might  prove  use- 


in  the  WwU.    219 


ful  at  an  exhibition,  not  as  an  exhibit,  but  as 
a  stall.  Another  suggestion  is  that  the  Sena- 
tus  could  put  the  Brewster  statue  in  it  at 
the  time  of  the  rectorial  election. 


THE  COMING  DRAMATIST. 


SHAKESPEARE  has  three  plays  on  the  Lon- 
don stage  at  present,  and  several  companies 
in  the  "provinces,"  where  Sheridan,  too,  is 
holding-  up  his  head.  This  is  even  better 
than  Mr.  Pettitt,  and  has  set  those  Who  write 
about  the  theatre  a-talking.  The  manager 
who  produces  Shakespearean  pieces  gets  a 
certificate  of  character  from  the  critics,  and 
theater-goers  are  given  to  understand  that  he 
is  a  public  benefactor.  He  has  "the  best 
interests  of  the  stage  at  heart,"  and  you 
ought  to  clap  your  hands  when  you  look  at 
him.  So  they  say,  but  it  is  only  a  manner 
of  talking.  The  manager  who  invites  the 
populace  to  see  himself  as  Hamlet  in  reduced 
circumstances,  or  his  wife  in  Lady  Teazle's 
dresses,  is  usually  a  greater  bore  than  the 
comic  person  with  red  nose  for  trade-mark, 
or  the  melodramatic  hero  in  a  prologue  and 
five  acts.  Even  when  Shakespeare  is  effi- 
ciently presented,  there  is  no  reason  why  we 
should  exult  over  the  fact,  as  if  each  of  the 
players  merited  a  medal  for  doing  the  best 


221 


for  himself;  nor  need  we  at  once  begin  to 
argue  that  the  prospects  of  the  theatre  are 
brightening.  The  old  playwrights  are  pop- 
ular with  actors  because  of  reasons  that  are 
quite  creditable,  but  not  specially  inspiring. 
It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  you  are  looked 
upon  as  some  one  to  honor  the  moment  you 
produce  a  Shakespearean  play,  and  "  Fame" 
being  what  the  actor  murmias  to  himself  as 
he  walks  along  the  streets,  he  naturally  likes 
to  appear  in  the  parts  that  give  him  his  best 
opportunity.  Hamlet  is  his  favorite  charac- 
ter when  he  is  his  own  manager,  because 
it  is  the  longest  part  in  Shakespeare.  An- 
other weighty  reason  is  that  you  can  play 
the  old  dramatists  for  nothing.  Thus, 
though  one  is  always  glad  to  see  actors 
ambitious  of  great  parts,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  extol  them  otherwise  than  for  their  acting. 
Mr.  Irving  has,  no  doubt,  done  more  for  the 
stage  than  any  other  living  man,  but  only  in 
the  way  of  showing  that  Shakespeare  in 
magnificent  upholstery  need  not  spell  bank- 
ruptcy. By  far  the  healthiest  sign  of  the 
stage  would  be  the  appearance  of  new  play- 
wrights of  distinction,  and  Mr.  Irving  seems 
to  have  given  up  looking  for  them.  Obvi- 
ously they  are  hard  to  find,  but  the  actor  or 
manager  who  discovers  even  one  will  have 
done  better  for  the  stage  than  those  who 
revise  Shakespeare  to  the  end  of  their  days. 
That  we  should  have  no  living  playwrights 


222  £he  (towing  g 


to  speak  of  is  assuredly  remarkable,  for  the 
demand  is  great  :  the  rewards  are  such  as  to 
dwarf  the  honors  attainable  by  novelists, 
poe.ts,  or  essayists,  and  the  pecuniary  remu- 
neration for  a  single  successful  play  means 
a  bank  account  forever.  Miss  Gubbins, 
author  of  the  famous  novel  Her  Fourth  Hus- 
band, produces  a  silly  play  at  a  matinee,  and 
every  prominent  daily  paper  in  the  country 
has  half  a  column  about  it  next  morning. 
Mr.  Wigley  adapts  the  latest  Ambiguous 
Comic  piece,  and  sells  the  rights  for  five  or 
ten  thousand  pounds.  After  that  he  is  inter- 
viewed whithersoever  his  triumphal  progress 
takes  him,  and  London  correspondents  tele- 
graph to  Australia  that  he  sometimes  wears 
a  white  waistcoat.  In  short,  the  newspaper 
editors,  who  know  what  they  are  about, 
think  that  theatrical  intelligence  must  be 
given  in  full,  though  important  books  have 
to  wait  for  notice  until  Parliament  rises. 
Such  interest  in  the  drama  ought  to  produce 
a  dramatist,  but  we  have  none  of  parts  to 
be  compared  with,  say,  our  eight  or  ten 
leading  novelists.  Mr.  Gilbert  is  a  wit  when 
he  is  set  to  music,  but  his  latest  effort, 
Brantingliame  Hall,  was  dull  and  trivial,  and 
only  proved  that  a  proper  playwright  is  not 
necessarily  a  playwright  proper.  Mr.  Pinero 
has  always  been  unsuccessful  when  he  was 
in  the  least  ambitious,  farce  being  what  suits 
him  best,  and  his  ' '  dramas  "  or  "  comedies  " 


223 


being  ever  a  curious  mixture  of  comedy, 
farce,  and  "serious  interest."  Mr.  Grundy 
is  a  smaller  Pinero,  and  the  melodramatists 
are  to  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  possible.  We 
do  not  nowadays  even  have  the  secret  of 
burlesque,  for  our  burlesques  burlesque 
nothing,  and  are  only  music-hall  entertain- 
ments, in  which  many  ladies  are  the  scenery, 
while  agile  gentlemen  play  the  fool  at 
twenty  or  fifty  pounds  a  week.  At  this 
moment  London  is  looking  forward  to  see- 
ing a  comedian  from  the  music  halls  turning 
Lancelot  into  ridicule.  A  few  comic  songs 
from  the  vulgar  palaces  that  are  now  so 
fashionable  in  London  will  probably  make 
this  latest  "burlesque"  run  for  hundreds  of 
nights.  In  Edinburgh  the  interest  Lon- 
doners have  in  their  music  halls  is  not  easily 
realized,  though  it  is  one  of  the  worst  signs 
of  the  times.  The  other  night  there  was  a 
disturbance  in  a  London  music  hall  over  a 
comic  political  song,  and  since  then  innu- 
merable "leaders  "  have  solemnly  discussed 
the  question  of  politics  in  places  of  amuse- 
ment. As  a  matter  of  fact,  actors  know 
nothing  about  the  questions  of  the  day. 
Not  one  in  fifty  records  his  vote  in  a  Parlia- 
mentary election.  Their  politics  are  that 
Mr.  Gladstone  is  the  G.  O.  M.,  and  that 
Lord  Randolph  Churchill  curls  his  mustache. 
In  speaking  of  the  theater  of  to-day,  never- 
theless,  a  pessimistic  tone  is  uncalled  for. 


224 


The  stage  has  been  swept  of  many  of  its 
objectionable  features,  and  the  standard  of 
acting  has  been  immeasurably  raised.  If  we 
have  no  one  theater  where  the  performance 
is  of  such  uniform  excellence  as  at  one 
famous  Paris  play-house,  we  have  more 
actors  and  actresses  of  intelligence  than  any 
other  country  in  the  world.  When  the 
dramatist  appears,  scores  of  companies  will 
be  found  capable  of  acting  his  pieces  satis- 
factorily. Nor  do  we  fear  that  he  would  be 
unappreciated.  Trash  is  often  a  success  on 
the  stage,  thanks  to  the  talent  of  one  or  two 
of  the  players  ;  but  the  average  audience 
recognizes  good  work,  and  would  rejoice  to 
have  the  opportunity  of  commending  it. 
All  that  is  wanted  is  the  dramatist.  One 
would  think  that  there  are  novelists  now 
with  us  who  could  write  plays  that  would  be 
literary  as  well  as  effective.  Some  of  them 
have  tried  and  failed,  but  obviously  because 
they  did  not  set  about  it  in  the  proper  way. 
Plays  and  novels  require  quite  different  con- 
struction, but  the  story-writer  who  is  dra- 
matic could  become  sufficiently  theatrical  by 
serving  a  short  apprenticeship  to  the  stage. 
There  are  such  prizes  to  pluck  for  those  who 
can  stand  on  tiptoe  that  the  absence  of  an 
outstanding  dramatist  is  as  surprising  as  it 
is  disappointing. 


IT. 


As  they  were  my  friends,  I  don't  care  to 
say  how  it  came  about  that  I  had  this 
strange  and,  I  believe,  unique  experience. 
They  considered  it  a  practical  joke,  though 
it  nearly  unhinged  my  reason.  Suffice  it 
that  last  Wednesday,  when  I  called  on  them 
at  their  new  house,  I  was  taken  upstairs  and 
shown  into  a  large  room  with  a  pictorial  wall- 
paper. There  was  a  popgun  on  the  table 
and  a  horse  with  three  legs  on  the  floor.  In 
a  moment  it  flashed  through  my  mind  that 
I  must  be  in  a  nursery.  I  started  back,  and 
then,  with  a  sinking  at  the  heart,  I  heard 
the  key  turn  in  the  lock.  From  the  corner 
came  a  strange  uncanny  moan.  Slowly  I 
forced  my  head  round  and  looked,  and  a 
lump  rose  in  my  throat,  and  I  realized  that 
I  was  alone  with  It. 

I  cannot  say  how  long  I  stood  there 
motionless.  As  soon  as  I  came  to  myself  I 
realized  that  my  only  chance  was  to  keep 
quiet.  I  tried  to  think.  The  probability 
was  that  they  were  not  far  away,  and  if  they 

'5 


226 


heard  nothing  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  S6, 
they  might  open  the  door  and  let  me  out 
So  I  stood  still,  with  my  eyes  riveted  on  the 
thing  where  It  lay.  It  did  not  cry  out  again, 
and  I  hoped  against  hope  that  It  had  not 
seen  me.  As  I  became  accustomed  to  the 
room  I  heard  It  breathing  quite  like  a  human 
being.  This  reassured  me  to  some  extent, 
for  I  saw  that  It  must  be  asleep.  The  ques- 
tion was,  Might  not  the  sleep  be  disturbed 
at  any  moment,  and  in  that  case,  what 
should  I  do?  I  remembered  the  story  of  the 
man  who  met  a  wild  beast  in  the  jungle  and 
subjugated  it  by  the  power  of  the  human 
eye.  I  thought  I  would  try  that.  All  the 
time  I  kept  glaring  at  its  lair  (for  I  could 
not  distinguish  itself),  and  the  two  things 
mixed  themselves  up  in  my  mind  till  I 
thought  I  was  trying  the  experiment  at  that 
moment.  Next  it  struck  me  that  perhaps 
the  whole  thing  was  a  mistake.  The  servant 
had  merely  shown  me  into  the  wrong  room. 
Yes ;  but  why  had  the  door  been  locked  ? 
After  all,  was  I  sure  that  it  was  locked  ?  I 
crept  closer  to  the  door,  and  with  my  eyes 
still  fixed  on  the  corner,  put  my  hand  gently 
— oh,  so  gently  ! — on  the  handle.  Softly  I 
turned  it  round.  I  felt  like  a  burglar.  The 
door  would  not  open.  Losing  all  self-con- 
trol, I  shook  it ;  and  then  again  came  that 
unnatural  cry.  I  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone, 
still  clutching  the  door-handle,  lest  it  should 


227 


squeak  if  I  let  it  go.  Then  I  listened  for  the 
breathing.  In  a  few  moments  I  heard  it. 
Before  it  had  horrified  me ;  now  it  was  like 
sweet  music,  and  I  resumed  breathing  my- 
self. I  kept  close  to  the  wall,  ready  for  any- 
thing ;  and  then  I  had  a  strange  notion.  As 
It  was  asleep,  why  should  I  not  creep  for- 
ward and  have  a  look  at  It  ?  I  yielded  to 
this  impulse. 

Of  course  I  had  often  seen  Them  before, 
but  always  with  some  responsible  person 
present,  and  never  such  a  young  one.  I 
thought  It  would  be  done  up  in  clothes,  but 
no,  It  lay  loose,  and  without  much  on.  I 
saw  Its  hands  and  arms,  and  It  had  hair.  It 
was  sound  asleep  to  all  appearances,  but 
there  was  a  queer  smile  upon  its  face  that  I 
did  not  like.  It  crossed  my  mind  that  It 
might  be  only  shamming,  so  I  looked  away 
and  then  turned  sharply  round  to  catch  It. 
The  smile  was  still  there,  but  It  moved  one 
of  its  hands  in  a  suspicious  way.  The  more 
I  looked,  the  more  uncomfortable  did  that 
smile  make  me.  There  was  something 
saturnine  about  it,  and  It  kept  it  up  too  long. 
I  felt  in  my  pocket  hurriedly  for  my  watch, 
in  case  It  should  wake  ;  but,  with  my  usual 
ill-luck,  I  had  left  it  at  the  watchmaker's. 
If  It  had  been  older  I  should  not  have  minded 
so  much,  for  I  would  have  kept  on  asking 
what  its  name  was.  But  this  was  such  a 
very  young  one  that  It  could  not  even  have 


228 


a  name  yet.  Presently  I  began  to  feel  that 
It  was  lying  too  quietly.  It  is  not  Their 
nature  to  be  quiet  for  any  length  of  time, 
and,  for  aught  I  knew,  this  one  might  be  ill. 
I  believe  I  should  have  felt  relieved  if  It  had 
cried  out  again.  After  thinking  it  over  for 
some  time  I  touched  It,  to  see  if  It  would 
move.  It  drew  up  one  leg  and  pushed  out 
a  hand.  Then  I  bit  my  lips  at  my  folly,  for 
there  was  no  saying  what  It  might  do  next 
I  got  behind  the  curtain,  and  watched  it 
anxiously  through  a  chink.  Except  that  the 
smile  became  wickeder  than  ever,  nothing 
happened.  I  was  wondering  whether  I 
should  not  risk  pinching  It,  so  as  to  make  It 
scream  and  bring  somebody,  when  I  heard 
an  awful  sound.  Though  I  am  only  twenty 
I  have  had  considerable  experience  of  life, 
and  I  can  safely  say  that  I  never  heard  such 
a  chuckle.  It  had  wakened  up  and  was 
laughing. 

I  gazed  at  It  from  behind  the  curtain  ;  Its 
eyes  were  wide  open,  and  you  could  see 
quite  well  that  it  was  reflecting  what  It  ought 
to  do  next.  As  long  as  it  did  not  come  out 
I  felt  safe,  for  It  could  not  see  me.  Some- 
thing funny  seemed  to  strike  It,  and  It 
laughed  heartily.  After  a  time  It  tried  to  sit 
up.  Fortunately  its  head  was  so  heavy  that 
It  always  lost  its  balance  just  as  It  seemed 
on  the  point  of  succeeding.  When  It  saw 
that  It  could  not  rise,  It  reflected  again,  and 


It 


then  all  of  a  sudden  It  put  its  fist  into  its 
mouth.  I  gazed  in  horror;  soon  only  the 
wrist  was  to  be  seen,  and  I  saw  that  It 
would  choke  in  another  minute.  Just  for  a 
second  I  thought  that  I  would  let  It  do  as  It 
liked.  Then  I  cried  out,  "  Don't  do  that  I  " 
and  came  out  from  behind  the  curtain. 
Slowly  It  removed  its  fist,  and  there  we  were, 
looking  at  each  other. 

I  retreated  to  the  door,  but  It  followed  me 
with  its  eyes.  It  had  not  had  time  to  scream 
yet,  and  I  glared  at  It  to  imply  that  I  would 
stand  no  nonsense.  But,  difficult  though 
this  may  be  to  believe,  It  didn't  scream  when 
It  had  the  chance.  It  chuckled  instead,  and 
made  signs  to  me  to  come  nearer.  This  was 
even  more  alarming  than  my  worst  fears. 
I  shook  my  head  and  then  my  fist  at  it,  but 
it  only  laughed  the  more.  In  the  end  I  got 
so  fearful  that  I  went  down  on  my  hands 
and  knees,  to  get  out  of  its  sight.  Then  it 
began  to  scream.  However,  I  did  not  get 
up.  When  they  opened  the  door  they  say 
I  was  beneath  the  table,  and  no  wonder. 
But  I  certainly  was  astonished  to  discover 
that  I  had  only  been  alone  with  It  for  seven 
minutes. 


THE   END. 


Travelling  ? 

TAKE  THE 

JVIonon 


Elegantly    Vestibuled 
TRAINS  .... 

BETWEEN 


Chicago, 

Indianapolis, 

Cincinnati, 

LAFAYETTE,  LOUISVILLE 
and  the  SOUTH. 


Magnificent  Faultless 

Equipment.  Service.  . 

Pullman  Sleeping  Cars  on  all  night  trains  ;  Park  r 
and  Dining  Cars  on  all  day  trains.  Only 
line  to  the  Celebrated  WEST  BADBN 
and  FRENCH  WCK  SPRINGS.  Hotels 
open  the  year  round. 

W.  H.  McDOEL,  FRANK  J.  REED, 

Vice-Pres,  and  Gen,  Mgr.  Gen.  Pass.  Agent. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


MAR  24  1934 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


YB  74153 


"O/f 


127 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Briggs  Pianos 


Are 

MARVELLOUS 


in 


•it»NE 

TOUCH 

SCALE 

ACTION 

DESIGN 

FINISH 

DURABILITY 


The  trained  skill,  taste,  and  science  displayed  in  the  manufacture  of  these 
instruments  win  the  universal  admiration  of  musical  artists.  They  have  a  phe- 
nomenal pleasing  quality  of  TONE,  delicate  and  elastic  TOUCH,  evenly  adjusted 
SOALE,  prompt  responding  ACTION,  artistic  DESIGN,  exquisite  FINISH,  and  ex- 
traordinary DURABILITY.  Their  popularity  is  daily  extending. 

A  twenty  page  illustrated  book  for  piano  buyers,  "POINTS  PERTINENT  TO 
PIANOS  "  and  new  catalogue  free  on  application. 

BRIQQS  PIANO  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


